GHETTO 
TRAGEDIES 


ISRAEL 
ZANGWIL 


I 


EX-LIBRIS 


THE    JEWISH     PUBLICATION    SOCIETY 

OF    AMERICA 

Loaned  to  the 

INTERCOLLEGIATE    MENORAH    SOCIETY 

KOR    USE    AT 

UNIVERSITY    OF    CALIFORNIA 


'  r 


<'  They  that  Walk  in  Darkness  " 


^2^M: 


'^-.ZT-  -■rru^'i.,^^ 


Ghetto  Tragedies 


BY 

I.   ZANGWILL 

AUTHOR    OF    "CHILDREN    OF    THE    GHETTO,*' 
**THE    KING    OF    SCHNORRERS,"     ETC. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON  :    MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Ltd. 
I91I 

jill  rights  raer-ved 


^4^-"^ 


i**^ 


Copyright,  1899, 
By  I.  ZANGWILL. 


NotJOflOlJ  |3«<B» 

J.  S.  Cuihing  &  Co.  -  Berwick  k  Smith 

Norwood  Mms.  U.SJL. 


PREFACE 

The  "  Ghetto  Tragedies  "  collected  in  a  little  vol- 
ume in  1893  have  been  so  submerged  in  the  present 
collection  that  I  have  relegated  the  original  name 
to  the  sub-title.  "  Satan  Mekatrig  "  was  written  in 
1889,  "  Bethulah  "  this  year.  Anyone  who  should 
wish  to  measure  the  progress  or  decay  of  my  imagi- 
nation during  the  ten  years  has  therefore  materials 
to  hand.  "  Noah's  Ark  "  stands  on  the  firmer  Ara- 
rat of  history,  my  invention  being  confined  to  the 
figure  of  Peloni  (the  Hebrew  for  ''nobody").  The 
other  stories  have  also  a  basis  in  life.  But  neither  in 
pathos  nor  heroic  stimulation  can  they  vie  with  the 
literal  tragedy  with  which  the  whole  book  is  in  a 
sense  involved.  Mrs.  N.  S.  Joseph,  the  great-hearted 
lady  to  whom  **  Ghetto  Tragedies "  was  inscribed, 
herself  walked  in  darkness,  yet  was  not  dismayed :  in 
the  prime  of  life  she  went  down  into  the  valley  of 
the  shadow,  with  no  word  save  of  consideration  for 
others.  I  trust  the  new  stories  would  not  have  been 
disapproved  by  my  friend,  to  whose  memory  they 
must  now,  alas  !  be  dedicated. 

I.  Z. 

October,  1899. 


«^ 


§5298 


CONTENTS 


I 

PAGE 

"  They  that  Walk  in  Darkness  "       .        .        .       .        i 

II 
Transitional 41 

III 
Noah's  Ark 79 

IV 

The  Land  of  Promise 127 

V 
To  Die  in  Jerusalem 159 

VI 
Bethulah 185 

VII 
The  Keeper  of  Conscience 249 

VIII 
Satan  Mekatrig 345 

vii 


Vlll  CONTENTS 

IX 

PAGE 

Diary  of  a  Meshumad 403 

X 

Incurable        .       .    ,    .       .       .       .       •       .       .    457 

XI 

The  Sabbath-breaker  .        .        .        .        ,        .        .    479 


"THEY  THAT  WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 


THEY  THAT  WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 


It  was  not  till  she  had  fasted  every  Monday  and 
Thursday  for  a  twelvemonth,  that  Zillah's  long 
yearning  for  a  child  was  gratified.  She  gave  birth 
—  O  more  than  fair-dealing  God  !  —  to  a  boy. 

Jossel,  who  had  years  ago  abandoned  the  hope 
of  an  heir  to  pray  for  his  soul,  was  as  delighted  as 
he  was  astonished.  His  wife  had  kept  him  in  igno- 
rance of  the  fasts  by  which  she  was  appealing  to 
Heaven ;  and  when  of  a  Monday  or  Thursday  even- 
ing on  his  return  from  his  boot  factory  in  Bethnal 
Green,  he  had  sat  down  to  his  dinner  in  Dalston, 
no  suspicion  had  crossed  his  mind  that  it  was  Zillah's 
breakfast.  He  himself  was  a  prosaic  person,  in- 
capable of  imagining  such  spontaneities  of  religion, 
though  he  kept  every  fast  which  it  behoves  an  ortho- 
dox Jew  to  endure  who  makes  no  speciality  of  saint- 
hood. There  was  a  touch  of  the  fantastic  in  Zillah's 
character  which  he  had  only  appreciated  in  its  mani- 
festation as  girlish  liveliness,  and  which  Zillah  knew 
would  find  no  response  from  him  in  its  religious 
expression. 

1 


2  ''THEY  THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

Not  that  her  spiritual  innovations  were  original 
inventions.  From  some  pious  old  crone,  after  whom 
(as  she  could  read  Hebrew)  a  cluster  of  neighbouring 
dames  repeated  what  they  could  catch  of  the  New 
Year  prayers  in  the  women's  synagogue,  Zillah  had 
learnt  that  certain  holy  men  were  accustomed  to 
afflict  their  souls  on  Mondays  and  Thursdays.  From 
her  unsuspecting  husband  himself  she  had  further 
elicited  that  these  days  were  marked  out  from  the 
ordinary,  even  for  the  man  of  the  world,  by  a  special 
prayer  dubbed  "  the  long  '  He  being  merciful.'  " 
Surely  on  Mondays  and  Thursdays,  then.  He  would 
indeed  be  merciful.  To  make  sure  of  His  good-will 
she  continued  to  be  unmerciful  to  herself  long  after 
it  became  certain  that  her  prayer  had  been  granted. 


II 


Both  Zillah  and  Jossel  lived  in  happy  ignorance  of 
most  things,  especially  of  their  ignorance.  The  man- 
ufacture of  boots  and  all  that  appertained  thereto,  the 
synagogue  and  religion,  misunderstood  reminiscences 
of  early  days  in  Russia,  the  doinjs  and  misdoings  of 
a  petty  social  circle,  and  such  particular  narrowness 
with  general  muddle  as  is  produced  by  stumbling 
through  a  Sabbath  paper  and  a  Sunday  paper :  these 
were  the  main  items  in  their  intellectual  inventory. 
Separate  Zillah  from  her  husband  and  she  became 
even  poorer,  for  she  could  not  read  at  all. 


''THEY  THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'*  3 

Yet  they  prospered.  The  pavements  of  the  East 
End  resounded  with  their  hob-nailed  boots,  and  even 
in  many  a  West  End  drawing-room  their  patent- 
leather  shoes  creaked.  But  they  themselves  had  no 
wish  to  stand  in  such  shoes ;  the  dingy  perspectives 
of  Dalston  villadom  limited  their  ambition,  already 
sufficiently  gratified  by  migration  from  Whitechapel. 
The  profits  went  to  enlarge  their  factory  and  to  buy 
houses,  a  favourite  form  of  investment  in  their  set. 
Zillah  could  cook  fish  to  perfection,  both  fried  and 
stewed,  and  the  latter  variety  both  sweet  and  sour. 
Nothing,  in  fine,  had  been  wanting  to  their  happi- 
ness —  save  a  son,  heir,  and  mourner. 

When  he  came  at  last,  little  that  rehgion  or  su- 
perstition could  do  for  him  was  left  undone.  An 
amulet  on  the  bedpost  scared  off  Lilith,  Adam's 
first  wife,  who,  perhaps  because  she  missed  being 
the  mother  of  the  human  race,  hankers  after  babes 
and  sucklings.  The  initiation  into  the  Abrahamic 
covenant  was  graced  by  a  pious  godfather  with 
pendent  ear-locks,  and  in  the  ceremony  of  the  Re- 
demption of  the  First-Born  the  five  silver  shekels 
to  the  priest  were  supplemented  by  golden  sover- 
eigns for  the  poor.  Nor,  though  Zillah  spoke  the 
passable  English  of  her  circle,  did  she  fail  to  rock 
her  Brum's  cradle  to  the  old  "Yiddish"  nursery- 
songs  :  — 

"  Sleep,  my  birdie,  shut  your  eyes, 
O  sleep,  my  little  one  ; 


4  "THEY  THAT   WALK  IN  DARKNESS'* 

Too  soon  from  cradle  you'll  arise 
To  work  that  must  be  done. 

"  Almonds  and  raisins  you  shall  sell, 
And  holy  scrolls  shall  write ; 
So  sleep,  dear  child,  sleep  sound  and  well, 
Your  future  beckons  bright. 

"Brum  shall  learn  of  ancient  days, 
And  love  good  folk  of  this  ; 
So  sleep,  dear  babe,  your  mother  prays, 
And  God  will  send  you  bliss." 

Alas,  that  with  all  this,  Brum  should  have  grown 
up  a  weakling,  sickly  and  anaemic,  with  a  look  that 
in  the  child  of  poorer  parents  would  have  said  star- 
vation. 


Ill 


Yet  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  his  infantile 
career,  Zillah's  faith  in  his  survival  never  faltered. 
He  was  emphatically  a  child  from  Heaven,  and 
Providence  would  surely  not  fly  in  its  own  face. 
Jossel,  not  being  aware  of  this,  had  a  burden  of 
perpetual  solicitude,  which  Zillah  often  itched  to 
lighten.  Only,  not  having  done  so  at  first,  she 
found  it  more  and  more  difficult  to  confess  her  ne- 
gotiation with  the  celestial  powers.  She  went  as 
near  as  she  dared. 

"  If  the  Highest  One  has  sent  us  a  son  after  so 
many  years,"  she  said  in  the  "  Yiddish  "  which  was 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  6 

Still  natural  to  her  for  intimate  domestic  discussion, 
"  He  will  not  take  him  away  again." 

"As  well  say,"  Jossel  replied  gloomily,  "that  be- 
cause He  has  sent  us  luck  and  blessing  after  all 
these  years,  He  may  not  take  away  our  prosperity." 

"Hush!  don't  beshrew  the  child!"  And  Zillah 
spat  out  carefully.  She  was  tremulously  afraid  of 
words  of  ill-omen  and  of  the  Evil  Eye,  against  which, 
she  felt  vaguely,  even  Heaven's  protection  was  not 
potent.  Secretly  she  became  more  and  more  con- 
vinced that  some  woman,  envious  of  all  this  "  luck  and 
blessing,"  was  withering  Brum  with  her  Evil  Eye. 
And  certainly  the  poor  child  was  peaking  and  pining 
away.  "  Marasmus,"  a  physician  had  once  mur- 
mured, wondering  that  so  well  dressed  a  child  should 
appear  so  ill  nourished.  "Take  him  to  the  seaside 
often,  and  feed  him  well,"  was  the  universal  cry  of 
the  doctors;  and  so  Zillah  often  deserted  her  hus- 
band for  a  kosher  boarding-house  at  Brighton 
or  Ramsgate,  where  the  food  was  voluminous,  and 
where  Brum  wrote  schoolboy  verses  to  the  strange, 
fascinating  sea. 

For  there  were  compensations  in  the  premature 
flowering  of  his  intellect.  Even  other  mothers  grad- 
ually came  round  to  admitting  he  was  a  prodigy. 
The  black  eyes  seemed  to  burn  in  the  white  face  as 
they  looked  out  on  the  palpitating  universe,  or  de- 
voured every  and  any  scrap  of  print !  A  pity  they 
had  so  soon  to  be  dulled   behind   spectacles.     But 


«  "THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

Zillah  found  consolation  in  the  thought  that  the 
glasses  would  go  well  with  the  high  black  waistcoat 
and  white  tie  of  the  British  Rabbi.  He  had  been 
given  to  her  by  Heaven,  and  to  Heaven  must  be 
returned.  Besides,  that  might  divert  it  from  any- 
more sinister  methods  of  taking  him  back. 

In  his  twelfth  year  Brum  began  to  have  more 
trouble  with  his  eyes,  and  renewed  his  early  acquain- 
tance with  the  drab  ante-rooms  of  eye  hospitals  that 
led,  at  the  long-expected  ting-ting  of  the  doctor's 
bell,  into  a  delectable  chamber  of  quaint  instruments. 
But  it  was  not  till  he  was  on  the  point  of  Bai^-Mitzvah 
{confirmation  at  thirteen)  that  the  blow  fell.  Un- 
warned expHcitly  by  any  physician,  Brum  went  blind. 

*'  Oh,  mother,"  was  his  first  anguished  cry,  "  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  read  again." 

IV 

The  prepared  festivities  added  ironic  complications 
to  the  horror.  After  Brum  should  have  read  in  the 
Law  from  the  synagogue  platform,  there  was  to  have 
been  a  reception  at  the  house.  Brum  himself  had 
written  out  the  invitations  with  conscious  grammar. 
**  Present  their  compliments  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Solomon 
and  shall  be  glad  to  see  them  "  (not  you,  as  was  the 
fashion  of  their  set).  It  was  after  writing  out  so 
many  notes  in  a  fine  schoolboy  hand,  that  Brum  be- 
gan to  be  conscious  of  thickening  blurs  and  dancing 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS"  7 

specks  and  colours.  Now  that  the  bhnd  boy  was 
crouching  in  hopeless  misery  by  the  glowing  fire, 
where  he  had  so  often  recklessly  pored  over  books 
in  the  delicious  dusk,  there  was  no  one  handy  to 
write  out  the  countermands.  As  yet  the  wretched 
parents  had  kept  the  catastrophe  secret,  as  though 
it  reflected  on  themselves.  And  by  every  post  the 
Confirmation  presents  came  pouring  in. 

Brum  refused  even  to  feel  these  shining  objects. 
He  had  hoped  to  have  a  majority  of  books,  but  now 
the  preponderance  of  watches,  rings,  and  penknives, 
left  him  apathetic.  To  his  parents  each  present 
brought  a  fresh  feeling  of  dishonesty. 

"We  must  let  them  know,"  they  kept  saying. 
But  the  tiny  difficulty  of  writing  to  so  many  pre- 
vented action. 

"Perhaps  he'll  be  all  right  by  Sabbath,"  Zillah 
persisted  frenziedly.  She  clung  to  the  faith  that  this 
was  but  a  cloud  :  for  that  the  glory  of  the  Confirma- 
tion of  a  future  Rabbi  could  be  so  dimmed  would 
argue  an  incomprehensible  Providence.  Brum's  per- 
formance was  to  be  so  splendid  —  he  was  to  recite 
not  only  his  own  portion  of  the  Law  but  the  entire 
Sabbath  Sedrah  (section). 

"  He  will  never  be  all  right,"  said  Jossel,  who,  in 
the  utter  breakdown  of  Zillah,  had  for  the  first  time 
made  the  round  of  the  doctors  with  Brum.  "  None 
of  the  physicians,  not  even  the  most  expensive,  hold 
out  any  hope.     And  the  dearest  of  all  said  the  case 


8  ""THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

puzzled  him.  It  was  like  the  blindness  that  often 
breaks  out  in  Russia  after  the  great  fasts,  and  spe- 
cially affects  delicate  children." 

**Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Zillah;  "but  that  was 
only  among  the  Christians." 

*'We  have  so  many  Christian  customs  nowadays," 
said  Jossel  grimly ;  and  he  thought  of  the  pestilent 
heretic  in  his  own  synagogue  who  advocated  that 
ladies  should  be  added  to  the  choir. 

"  Then  what  shall  we  do  about  the  people } " 
moaned  Zillah,  wringing  her  hands  in  temporary 
discouragement. 

"  You  can  advertise  in  the  Jewish  papers,"  came 
suddenly  from  the  brooding  Brum.  He  had  a  flash 
of  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  composing  something 
that  would  be  published. 

"  Yes,  then  everybody  will  read  it  on  the  Friday,'* 
said  Jossel  eagerly. 

Then  Brum  remembered  that  he  would  not  be 
among  the  readers,  and  despair  reconquered  him. 
But  Zillah  was  shaking  her  head. 

"  Yes,  but  if  we  tell  people  not  to  come,  and 
then  when  Brum  opens  his  eyes  on  the  Sabbath 
morning,  he  can  see  to  read  the  Sedrah  — " 

"■  But  I  don't  want  to  see  to  read  the  Sedrah,'^ 
said  the  boy  petulantly  ;  *'  I  know  it  all  by  heart." 

"  My  blessed  boy  !  "  cried  Zillah. 

"There's  nothing  wonderful,"  said  the  boy;  "even 
if  you  read  the  scroll,  there  are  no  vowels  nor  musical 
signs." 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  & 

"  But  do  you  feel  strong  enough  to  do  it  all?  "  said 
the  father  anxiously. 

"  God  will  give  him  strength,"  put  in  the  mother. 
"And  he  will  make  his  speech,  too,  won't  you,  my 
Brum  ?  " 

The  blind  face  kindled.  Yes,  he  would  give  his 
learned  address.  He  had  saved  his  father  the  ex- 
pense of  hiring  one,  and  had  departed  in  original 
rhetorical  ways  from  the  conventional  methods  of 
expressing  filial  gratitude  to  the  parents  who  had 
brought  him  to  manhood.  And  was  this  elo- 
quence to  remain  entombed  in  his  own  breast.? 

His  courageous  resolution  lightened  the  gloom.. 
His  parents  opened  parcels  they  had  not  had  the 
heart  to  touch.  They  brought  him  his  new  suit,, 
they  placed  the  high  hat  of  manhood  on  his  head,, 
and  told  him  how  fine  and  tall  he  looked ;  they 
wrapped  the  new  silk  praying-shawl  round  his. 
shoulders. 

"  Are  the  stripes  blue  or  black  }  "  he  asked. 

"Blue  —  a  beautiful  blue,"  said  Jossel,  striving  ta 
steady  his  voice. 

"  It  feels  very  nice,"  said  Brum,  smoothing  the 
silk  wistfully.     "Yes,  I  can  almost  feel  the  blue." 

Later  on,  when  his  father,  a  little  brightened,  had 
gone  off  to  the  exigent  boot  factory,  Brum  even 
asked  to  see  the  presents.  The  blind  retain  these 
visual  phrases. 

Zillah  described  them  to  him  one  by  one  as  he 


10  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

handled  them.  When  it  came  to  the  books  it 
dawned  on  her  that  she  could  not  tell  him  the 
titles. 

"  They  have  such  beautiful  pictures,"  she  gushed 
evasively. 

The  boy  burst  into  tears. 

*'  Yes,  but  I  shall  never  be  able  to  read  them,"  he 
sobbed. 

"  Yes,  you  will." 

"No,  I  won't." 

"  Then  I'll  read  them  to  you,"  she  cried,  with 
sudden  resolution. 

"  But  you  can't  read." 

"  I  can  learn." 

*'  But  you  will  be  so  long.  I  ought  to  have  taught 
you  myself.     And  now  it  is  too  late  !  " 


V 


In  order  to  insure  perfection,  and  prevent  stage 
fright,  so  to  speak,  it  had  been  arranged  that  Brum 
should  rehearse  his  reading  of  the  Sedrah  on  Fri- 
day in  the  synagogue  itself,  at  an  hour  when  it  was 
free  from  worshippers.  This  rehearsal,  his  mother 
thought,  was  now  all  the  more  necessary  to  screw  up 
Brum's  confidence,  but  the  father  argued  that  as  all 
places  were  now  alike  to  the  blind  boy,  the  prom- 
inence of  a  public  platform  and  a  large  staring 
audience  could  no  longer  unnerve  him. 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  11 

"  But  he  will/<?^/  them  there  !  "  Zillah  protested. 
"But  since  they  are  not  there  on  the  Friday  —  ?  " 
"  All  the  more  reason.     Since  he  cannot  see  that 
they  are  not  there,  he  can  fancy  they  are  there.     On 
Saturday  he  will  be  quite  used  to  them." 

But  when  Jossel,  yielding,  brought  Brum  to  the 
synagogue  appointment,  the  fusty  old  Beadle  who 
was  faithfully  in  attendance  held  up  his  hands  in 
holy  and  secular  horror  at  the  blasphemy  and  the 
blindness  respectively. 

"A  blind  man  may  not  read  the  Law  to  the  con- 
gregation !  "  he  explained. 

''  No  .?  "  said  Jossel. 

"  Why  not }  "  asked  Brum  sharply. 

"  Because  it  stands  that  the  Law  shall  be  _read. 
And  a  blind  man  cannot  read.     He  can  only  recite." 

"  But  I  know  every  word  of  it,"  protested  Brum. 

The  Beadle  shook  his  head.  "■  But  suppose  you 
make  a  mistake !  Shall  the  congregation  hear  a 
word  or  a  syllable  that  God  did  not  write  }  It  would 
be  playing  into  Satan's  hands." 

"•  I  shall  say  every  word  as  God  wrote  it.  Give 
me  a  trial." 

But  the  fusty  Beadle's  piety  was  invincible.  He  was 
highly  sympathetic  toward  the  human  affliction,  but 
he  refused  to  open  the  Ark  and  produce  the  Scroll. 

"I'll  let  the  Chasan  (cantor)  know  he  must  read 
to-morrow,  as  usual,"  he  said  conclusively. 


12  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

Jossel  went  home,  sighing,  but  silenced.  Zillah 
however,  was  not  so  easily  subdued.  "  But  my  Brum 
will  read  it  as  truly  as  an  angel !  "  she  cried,  pressing 
the  boy's  head  to  her  breast.  "And  suppose  he 
does  make  a  mistake  !  Haven't  I  heard  the  congre- 
gation correct  Winkelstein  scores  of  times?" 

"Hush!"  said  Jossel,  "you  talk  like  an  Epicu- 
rean. Satan  makes  us  all  err  at  times,  but  we  must 
not  play  into  his  hands.  The  Din  (judgment)  is  that 
only  those  who  see  may  read  the  Law  to  the-  congre- 
gation." 

"  Brum  will  read  it  much  better  than  that  snuffling 
old  Winkelstein." 

"  Sha !     Enough  !     The  Di7i  is  the  Din  !  " 

"  It  was  never  meant  to  stop  my  poor  Brum  from  —  " 

"  The  Din  is  the  Di7i.  It  won't  let  you  dance  on 
its  head  or  chop  wood  on  its  back.  Besides,  the 
synagogue  refuses,  so  make  an  end." 

"I  ivill  make  an  end.  I'll  have  Minyan  (congre- 
gation) here,  in  our  own  house." 

"  What ! "  and  the  poor  man  stared  in  amaze. 
**  Always  she  falls  from  heaven  with  a  new  idea  !  " 

"  Brum  shall  not  be  disappointed."  And  she  gave 
the  silent  boy  a  passionate  hug. 

"  But  we  have  no  Scroll  of  the  Law,"  Brum  said, 
speaking  at  last,  and  to  the  point. 

"  Ah,  that's  you  all  over,  Zillah,"  cried  Jossel, 
relieved,  —  "  loud  drumming  in  front  and  no  soldiers 
behind ! " 


**THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  18 

"We  can  borrow  a  Scroll,"  said  Zillah. 

Jossel  gasped  again,  "  But  the  iniquity  is  just  the 
same,"  he  said, 

*'  As  if  Brum  made  mistakes  !  " 

"If  you  were  a  Rabbi,  the  congregation  would  bap- 
tize itself  !  "  Jossel  quoted. 

Zillah  writhed  under  the  proverb.  "It  isn't  as 
if  you  went  to  the  Rabbi ;  you  took  the  word  of  the 
Beadle." 

"  He  is  a  learned  man." 

Zillah  donned  her  bonnet  and  shawl. 

"  Where  are  you  going  }  " 

"To  the  minister." 

Jossel  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  did  not  stop 
her. 

The  minister,  one  of  the  new  school  of  Rabbis 
who  preach  sermons  in  English  and  dress  like  Chris- 
tian clergymen,  as  befitted  the  dignity  of  Dalston 
villadom,  was  taken  aback  by  the  ritual  problem,  so 
new  and  so  tragic.  His  acquaintance  with  the  vast 
casuistic  literature  of  his  race  was  of  the  shallowest. 
"  No  doubt  the  Beadle  is  right,"  he  observed  pro- 
foundly. 

"  He  cannot  be  right;  he  doesn't  know  my  Brum." 

Worn  out  by  Zillah's  persistency,  the  minister 
suggested  going  to  the  Beadle's  together.  Aware 
of  the  Beadle's  prodigious  lore,  he  had  too  much 
regard  for  his  own  position  to  risk  congregational 
odium  by  flying  in  the  face  of  an  exhumable  Din. 


14  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

At  the  Beadle's,  the  Din  was  duly  unearthed  from 
worm-eaten  folios,  but  Zillah  remaining  unappeased, 
further  searching  of  these  Rabbinic  scriptures  re- 
vealed a  possible  compromise. 

If  the  portion  the  boy  recited  was  read  over  again 
by  a  reader  not  blind,  so  that  the  first  congregational 
reading  did  not  count,  it  might  perhaps  be  permitted. 

It  would  be  of  course  too  tedious  to  treat  the  whole 
Sedrah  thus,  but  if  Brum  were  content  to  recite  his 
own  particular  seventh  thereof,  he  should  be  sum- 
moned to  the  Rostrum. 

So  Zillah  returned  to  Jossel,  sufficiently  trium- 
phant. 

VI 

"Abraham,  the  son  of  Jossel,  shall  stand." 
In  obedience  to  the  Cantor's  summons,  the  blind 
boy,  in  his  high  hat  and  silken  praying-shawl  with  the 
blue  stripes,  rose,  and  guided  by  his  father's  hand  as- 
cended the  platform,  amid  the  emotion  of  the  syna- 
gogue. His  brave  boyish  treble,  pursuing  its  faultless 
way,  thrilled  the  listeners  to  tears,  and  inflamed  Zillah's 
breast,  as  she  craned  down  from  the  gallery,  with  the 
mad  hope  that  the  miracle  had  happened,  after  all. 

The  house-gathering  afterward  savoured  of  the  grew- 
some  conviviality  of  a  funeral  assemblage.  But  the 
praises  of  Brum,  especially  after  his  great  speech, 
were  sung  more  honestly  than  those  of  the  buried ; 
than  whom  the  white-faced  dull-eyed  boy,  cut  off  from 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  15 

the  gaily  coloured  spectacle  in  the  sunlit  room,  was  a 
more  tragic  figure. 

But  Zillah,  in  her  fineries  and  forced  smiles,  offered 
the  most  tragic  image  of  all.  Every  congratulation 
was  a  rose-wreathed  dagger,  every  eulogy  of  Brum's 
eloquence  a  reminder  of  the  Rabbi  God  had  thrown 
away  in  him. 

VII 

Amid  the  endless  babble  of  suggestions  made  to 
her  for  Brum's  cure,  one — repeated  several  times  by 
different  persons  —  hooked  itself  to  her  distracted 
brain.  Germany  !  There  was  a  great  eye-doctor  in 
Germany,  who  could  do  anything  and  everything. 
Yes,  she  would  go  to  Germany. 

This  resolution,  at  which  Jossel  shrugged  his 
shoulders  in  despairing  scepticism,  was  received  with 
rapture  by  Brum.  How  he  had  longed  to  see  foreign 
countries,  to  pass  over  that  shining  sea  which  whis- 
pered and  beckoned  so,  at  Brighton  and  Ramsgate ! 
He  almost  forgot  he  would  not  see  Germany,  unless 
the  eye-doctor  were  a  miracle-monger  indeed. 

But  he  was  doomed  to  a  double  disappointment ;  for 
instead  of  his  going  to  Germany,  Germany  came  to 
him,  so  to  speak,  in  the  shape  of  the  specialist's 
annual  visit  to  London ;  and  the  great  man  had 
nothing  soothing  to  say,  only  a  compassionate  head 
to  shake,  with  ominous  warnings  to  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  job  and  fatten  up  the  poor  boy . 


16  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

Nor  did  Zillah's  attempts  to  read  take  her  out  of 
the  infant  primers,  despite  long  hours  of  knitted  brow 
and  puckered  lips,  and  laborious  triumphs  over  the 
childish  sentences,  by  patient  addition  of  syllable  to 
syllable.  She  also  tried  to  write,  but  got  no  further 
than  her  own  name,  imitated  from  the  envelopes. 

To  occupy  Brum's  days,  Jossel,  gaining  enlighten- 
ment in  the  ways  of  darkness,  procured  Braille  books. 
But  the  boy  had  read  most  of  the  stock  works  thus 
printed  for  the  blind,  and  his  impatient  brain  fretted 
at  the  tardiness  of  finger-reading.  Jossel's  one  conso- 
lation was  that  the  boy  would  not  have  to  earn  his 
living.  The  thought,  however,  of  how  his  blind 
heir  would  be  cheated  by  agents  and  rent-collectors 
was  a  touch  of  bitter  even  in  this  solitary  sweet. 

VIII 

It  was  the  Sabbath  Fire- Woman  who,  appropriately 
enough,  kindled  the  next  glimmer  of  hope  in  Zillah's 
bosom.  The  one  maid-of-all-work,  who  had  supplied 
all  the  help  and  grandeur  Zillah  needed  in  her  estab- 
lishment, having  transferred  her  services  to  a  husband, 
Zillah  was  left  searching  for  an  angel  at  thirteen 
pounds  a  year.  In  the  interim  the  old  Irishwoman 
who  made  a  few  pence  a  week  by  attending  to  the 
Sabbath  fires  of  the  poor  Jews  of  the  neighbourhood, 
became  necessary  on  Friday  nights  and  Saturdays,  to 
save  the  household  from  cold  or  sin. 


\ 


**THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  17 

"Och,  the  quare  little  brat!"  she  muttered,  when 
she  first  came  upon  the  pale,  gnome-like  figure  by 
the  fender,  tapping  the  big  book,  for  all  the  world 
like  the  Leprechaun  cobbling. 

"  And  can't  he  see  at  all,  at  all  ?  "  she  asked  Zillah 
confidentially  one  Sabbath,  when  the  boy  was  out  of 
the  room. 

Zillah  shook  her  head,  unable  to  speak. 

'' Nebbich ! ''  compassionately  sighed  the  Fire- 
Woman,  who  had  corrupted  her  native  brogue  with 
"  Yiddish."  "  And  wud  he  be  borrun  dark  .?  " 

"  No,  it  came  only  a  few  months  ago,"  faltered 
Zillah. 

The  Fire- Woman  crossed  herself. 

"  Sure,  and  who'll  have  been  puttin'  the  Evil  Oi  on 
him.?"  she  asked. 

Zillah's  face  was  convulsed. 

"  I  always  said  so !  "  she  cried  ;  "  I  always  said 
so!" 

"  The  divil  burrun  thim  all ! "  cried  the  Fire- 
Woman,  poking  the  coals  viciously. 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  know  who  it  is.  They  envied 
me  my  beautiful  child,  my  lamb,  my  only  one.  And 
nothing  can  be  done."     She  burst  into  tears. 

"  Nothin'  is  a  harrd  wurrd !  If  he  was  my  bhoy, 
the  darlint,  I'd  cure  him,  aisy  enough,  so  I  wud." 

Zillah's  sdbs  ceased.  *'  How  .?  "  she  asked,  her 
eyes  gleaming  strangely. 

"  I'd  take  him  to  the  Pope,  av  course."        ' 


18  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

"The  Pope  !  "  repeated  Zillah  vaguely. 

"Ay,  the  Holy  Father!  The  ownly  man  in  this 
wurruld   that  can  take  away  the  Evil  Oi." 

Zillah  gasped.  "  Do  you  mean  the  Pope  of 
Rome.'^ " 

She  knew  the  phrase  somehow,  but  what  it  con- 
noted was  very  shadowy  and  sinister :  some  strange, 
mighty  chief  of  hostile  heathendom. 

"  Who  else  wud  I  be  manin'  t  The  Holy  Mother 
I'd  be  for  prayin'  to  meself ;  but  as  ye're  a  Jewess, 
I  dursn't  tell  ye  to  do  that.  But  the  Pope,  he's  a 
gintleman,  an'  so  he  is,  an'  sorra  a  bit  he'll  moind 
that  ye  don't  go  to  mass,  whin  he  shpies  that  poor, 
weeshy,  pale  shrimp  o'  yours.  He'll  just  wave  his 
hand,  shpake  a  wurrd,  an'  whisht !  in  the  twinklin' 
of  a  bedposht  ye'll  be  praisin'  the  Holy  Mother." 

Zillah's  brain  was  whirling.  "  Go  to  Rome  !  "  she 
said. 

The  Fire-Woman  poised  the  poker. 

"Well,  ye  can't  expect  the  Pope  to  come  to 
Dalston!" 

"  No,  no ;  I  don't  mean  that,"  said  Zillah,  in  hasty 
apology.  "  Only  it's  so  far  off,  and  I  shouldn't 
know  how  to  go." 

"  It's  not  so  far  off  as  Ameriky,  an'  it's  two  broths 
of  bhoys  I've  got  there." 

"Isn't  it.?"    asked  Zillah.  , 

"  No,  Lord  love  ye :  an'  sure  gold  carries  ye  any- 
where nowadays,  ixcept  to  Heaven." 


''THEY    THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  19 

"  But  if  I  got  to  Rome,  would  the  Pope  see  the 
child  ? " 

"As  sartin  as  the  child  wud  see  him,"  the  Fire- 
Woman  replied  emphatically. 

"  He  can  do  miracles,  then  ? "  inquired  Zillah, 

"What  else  wud  he  be  for  ?  Not  that  'tis  much  of 
a  miracle  to  take  away  the  Evil  Oi,  bad  scran  to  the 
witch!  " 

"Then  perhaps  our  Rabbi  can  do  it,  too?"  cried 
Zillah,  with  a  sudden  hope. 

The  Fire- Woman  shook  her  head.  "  Did  ye  ever 
"hear  he  could  }  " 

"  No,"  admitted  Zillah. 

"  Thrue  for  you,  mum.  Divil  a  wurrd  wud  I  say 
aginst  your  Priesht  —  wan's  as  good  as  another, 
maybe,  for  ivery-day  use ;  but  whin  it  comes  to 
throuble  and  heart-scaldin',  I  pity  the  poor  craythurs 
who  can't  put  up  a  candle  to  the  blessed  saints  —  an' 
so  I  do.  Niver  a  bhoy  o'  mine  has  crassed  the  ocean 
without  the  Virgin  havin'  her  candle." 

"And  did  they  arrive  safe  }  " 

"  They  did  so  ;  ivery  mother's  son  av  'em." 

IX 

The  more  the  distracted  mother  pondered  over 
this  sensational  suggestion,  the  more  it  tugged  at 
her.  Science  and  Judaism  had  failed  her :  perhaps 
this  unknown  power,  this  heathen  Pope,  had  indeed 


20  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

mastery  over  things  diabolical.  Perhaps  the  strange 
religion  he  professed  had  verily  a  saving  efficacy 
denied  to  her  own.  Why  should  she  not  go  to 
Rome } 

True,  the  journey  loomed  before  her  as  fearfully 
as  a  Polar  Expedition  to  an  ordinary  mortal.  Ger- 
many she  had  been  prepared  to  set  out  for :  it  lay 
on  the  great  route  of  Jewish  migration  westwards. 
But  Rome }  She  did  not  even  know  where  it  was. 
But  her  new  skill  in  reading  would,  she  felt,  help 
her  through  the  perils.  She  would  be  able  to  make 
out  the  names  of  the  railway  stations,  if  the  train 
waited  long  enough. 

But  with  the  cunning  of  the  distracted  she  did  not 
betray  her  heretical  ferment. 

"  P — o — p — e.  Pope,"  she  spelt  out  of  her  infants' 
primer  in  Brum's  hearing.  *'  Pope }  What's  that, 
Brum.?" 

"  Oh,  haven't  you  ever  heard  of  the  Pope, 
mother  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Zillah,  crimsoning  in  conscious  invisi- 
bility. 

"  He's  a  sort  of  Chief  Rabbi  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lics. He  wears  a  tiara.  Kings  and  emperors  used 
to  tremble  before  him." 

"And  don't  they  now.?"  she  asked  apprehensively. 

"  No  ;  that  was  in  the  Middle  Ages  —  hundreds  of 
years  ago.  He  only  had  power  over  the  Dark 
Ages." 


''THEY    THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS"  21 

**  Over  the  Dark  Ages  ? "  repeated  Zillah,  with  a 
fresh,  vague  hope. 

"  When  all  the  world  was  sunk  in  superstition  and 
ignorance,  mother.  Then  everybody  believed  in 
him." 

Zillah  felt  chilled  and  rebuked.  "  Then  he  no 
longer  works  miracles  t "  she  said  faintly. 

Brum  laughed.  "  Oh,  I  daresay  he  works  as  many 
miracles  as  ever.  Of  course  thousands  of  pilgrims 
still  go  to  kiss  his  toe.  I  meant  his  temporal  power 
is  gone  —  that  is,  his  earthly  power.  He  doesn't 
rule  over  any  countries ;  all  he  possesses  is  the 
Vatican,  but  that  is  full  of  the  greatest  pictures  by 
Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael." 

Zillah  gazed  open-mouthed  at  the  prodigy  she  had 
brought  into  the  world. 

"Raphael — that  sounds  Jewish,"  she  murmured. 
She  longed  to  ask  in  what  country  Rome  was,  but 
feared  to  betray  herself. 

Brum  laughed  again.  "  Raphael  Jewish !  Why 
—  so  it  is!  It's  a  Hebrew  word  meaning  'God's 
healing.' " 

"  God's  healing  !  "  repeated  Zillah,  awestruck. 

Her  mind  was  made  up. 

X 

"  Knowest  thou  what,  Jossel }  "  she  said  in  "  Yid- 
dish," as  they  sat  by  the  Friday-night  fireside  when 


22  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 

Brum  had  been  put  to  bed.  "  I  have  heard  of  a  new 
doctor,  better  than  all  the  others  !  "  After  all  it  was 
the  doctor,  the  healer,  the  exorcist  of  the  Evil  Eye, 
that  she  was  seeking  in  the  Pope,  not  the  Rabbi  of 
an  alien  religion. 

Jossel  shook  his  head.  **  You  will  only  throw  more 
money  away." 

"  Better  than  throwing  hope  away." 

**  Well,  who  is  it  now  } " 

"He  lives  far  away." 

"  In  Germany  again  "i " 

*'No,  in  Rome." 

"  In  Rome  .-^  Why,  that's  at  the  end  of  the  world 
—  in  Italy!" 

"I  know  it's  in  Italy!"  said  Zillah,  rejoiced  at  the 
information.  "  But  what  then  }  If  organ-grinders 
can  travel  the  distance,  why  can't  I }  " 

"  But  you  can't  speak  Italian !  " 

"  And  they  can't  speak  English  !  " 

"  Madness  !  Work,  but  not  wisdom  !  I  could  not 
trust  you  alone  in  such  a  strange  country,  and  the 
season  is  too  busy  for  me  to  leave  the  factory," 

"  I  don't  need  you  with  me,"  she  said,  vastly  re- 
lieved.    "  Brum  will  be  with  me." 

He  stared  at  her.     "  Brum  !  " 

"  Brum  knows  everything.  Believe  me,  Jossel,  in 
two  days  he  will  speak  Italian." 

*•  Let  be  !     Let  be  !     Let  me  rest !  " 

"  And  on  the  way  back  he  will  be  able  to  see !    He 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  23 

will  show  me  everything,  and  Mr.  Raphael's  pictures. 
*  God's  healing,' "  she  murmured  to  herself. 

"  But  you'd  be  away  for  Passover  !     Enough  !  " 

"  No,  we  shall  be  easily  back  by  Passover." 

"  O  these  women  !  The  Almighty  could  not  have 
rested  on  the  seventh  day  if  he  had  not  left  woman 
still  uncreated." 

"■  You  don't  care  whether  Brum  lives  or  dies  ! " 
Zillah  burst  into  sobs. 

"  It  is  just  because  I  do  that  I  ask  how  are  you 
going  to  live  on  the  journey  t  And  there  are  no 
kosher  hotels  in  Italy." 

*'We  shall  manage  on  eggs  and  fish.  God  will 
forgive  us  if  the  hotel  plates  are  unclean." 

"  But  you  won't  be  properly  nourished  without 
meat." 

"  Nonsense ;  when  we  were  poor  we  had  to  do 
without  it."  To  herself  she  thought,  "If  he  only 
knew  I  did  without  food  altogether  on  Mondays  and 
Thursdays!" 

XI 

And  so  Brum  passed  at  last  over  the  shining, 
wonderful  sea,  feeling  only  the  wind  on  his  forehead 
and  the  salt  in  his  nostrils.  It  was  a  beautiful  day 
at  the  dawn  of  spring ;  the  far-stretching  sea  sparkled 
with  molten  diamonds,  and  Zillah  felt  that  the  highest 
God's  blessing  rested  like  a  blue  sky  over  this  strange 
pilgrimage.     She  was  dressed  with  great  taste,  and 


24  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

few  would  have  divined  the  ignorance  under  her 
silks. 

*'  Mother,  can  you  see  France  yet  ?  "  Brum  asked 
very  soon. 

"No,  my  lamb." 

"  Mother,  can  you  see  France  yet  .•* "  he  persisted 
later. 

"  I  see  white  cliffs,"  she  said  at  last. 

"Ah  !  that's  only  the  white  cliffs  of  Old  England. 
Look  the  other  way." 

"  I  am  looking  the  other  way.  I  see  white  cliffs 
coming  to  meet  us." 

"  Has  France  got  white  cliffs,  too  1 "  cried  Brum, 
disappointed. 

On  the  journey  to  Paris  he  wearied  her  to  describe 
France.  In  vain  she  tried  :  her  untrained  vision 
and  poor  vocabulary  could  give  him  no  new  elements 
to  weave  into  a  mental  picture.  There  were  trees 
and  sometimes  houses  and  churches.  And  again 
trees.  What  kind  of  trees  }  Green  !  Brum  was  in 
despair.  France  was,  then,  only  like  England ;  white 
cUffs  without,  trees  and  houses  within.  He  demanded 
the  Seine  at  least. 

"  Yes,  I  see  a  great  water,"  his  mother  admitted 
at  last. 

"That's  it!  It  rises  in  the  C6te  d'Or,  flows 
N.  N.  W.  then  W.,  and  N.  W.  into  the  EngHsh 
Channel.  It  is  more  than  twice  as  long  as  the 
Thames.     Perhaps  you'll  see  the  tributaries  flowing 


*'THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  26 

into  it  —  the  little  rivers,  the  Oise,  the  Marne,  the 
Yonne." 

"  No  wonder  the  angels  envy  me  him !  "  thought 
Zillah  proudly. 

They  halted  at  Paris,  puttingup  for  the  night,  by 
the  advice  of  a  friendly  fellow-traveller,  at  a  hotel 
by  the  Gare  de  Lyon,  where,  to  Zillah's  joy  and 
amazement,  everybody  spoke  English  to  her  and 
accepted  her  English  gold  —  a  pleasant  experience 
which  was  destined  to  be  renewed  at  each  stage,  and 
which  increased  her  hope  of  a  happy  issue. 

*'  How  loud  Paris  sounds  !  "  said  Brum,  as  they 
drove  across  it.  He  had  to  construct  it  from  its 
noises,  for  in  answer  to  his  feverish  interrogations 
his  mother  could  only  explain  that  some  streets  were 
lined  with  trees  and  some  foolish  unrespectable 
people  sat  out  in  the  cold  air,  drinking  at  Httle 
tables. 

'*  Oh,  how  jolly  !  "  said  Brum.  "  But  can't  you  see 
Notre  Dame.?" 

''What's  that.?" 

"A  splendid  cathedral,  mother  —  very  old.  Do 
look  for  two  towers.  We  must  go  there  the  first 
thing  to-morrow." 

**  The  first  thing  to-morrow  we  take  the  train. 
The  quicker  we  get  to  the  doctor,  the  better." 

"  Oh,  but  we  can't  leave  Paris  without  seeing 
Notre  Dame,  and  the  gargoyles,  and  perhaps  Quasi- 
modo, and  all  that  Victor  Hugo  describes.     I  wonder 


26  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

if  we  shall  see  a  devil-fish  in  Italy,"  he  added 
irrelevantly. 

*'  You'll  see  the  devil  if  you  go  to  such  places," 
said  Zillah,  who,  besides  shirking  the  labor  of  de- 
scription, was  anxious  not  to  provoke  unnecessarily 
the  God  of  Israel.  ^^ 

"  But  I've  often  been  to  St.  Paul's  with  the  boys," 
said  Brum. 

"  Have  you  t  "     She  was  vaguely  alarmed. 

"Yes,  it's  lovely  —  the  stained  windows  and  the 
organ.  Yes,  and  the  Abbey's  glorious,  too  ;  it  almost 
makes  me  cry.  I  always  liked  to  hear  the  music 
with  my  eyes  shut,"  he  added,  with  forced  cheeriness, 
''and  now  that'll  be  all  right," 

"  But  your  father  wouldn't  like  it,"  said  Zillah 
feebly. 

"  Father  wouldn't  Hke  me  to  read  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,''  retorted  Brum.  "  He  doesn't  understand 
these  things.  There's  no  harm  in  our  going  to  Notre 
Dame." 

''  No,  no ;  it'll  be  much  better  to  save  all  these 
places  for  the  way  back,  when  you'll  be  able  to  see 
for  yourself." 

Too  late  it  struck  her  she  had  missed  an  opportunity 
of  breaking  to  Brum  the  real  object  of  the  expedition. 

**  But  the  Seine,  anyhow!"  he  persisted.  "We 
can  go  there  to-night." 

"  But  what  can  you  see  at  night } "  cried  Zillah, 
unthinkingly. 


''THEY   THAT   WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  27 

"  Oh,  mother !  how  beautiful  it  used  to  be  to  look 
over  London  Bridge  at  night  when  we  came  back 
from  the  Crystal  Palace  !  " 

In  the  end  Zillah  accepted  the  compromise,  and 
after  their  dinner  of  fish  and  vegetables  —  for  which 
Brum  had  scant  appetite  —  they  were  confided  by 
the  hotel  porter  to  a  bulbous-nosed  cabman,  who  had 
instructions  to  restore  them  to  the  hotel.  Zillah 
thought  wistfully  of  her  warm  parlour  in  Dalston, 
with  the  firelight  reflected  in  the  glass  cases  of  the 
wax  flowers. 

The  cab  stopped  on  a  quay. 

"  Well }  "  said  Brum  breathlessly. 

"  Little  fool ! "  said  Zillah  good-humouredly. 
**  There  is  nothing  but  water  —  the  same  water  as 
in  London." 

"  But  there  are  lights,  aren't  there  ?  " 

"Yes,  there  are  lights,"  she  admitted  cheerfully 

"  Where  is  the  moon  ?  " 

"  Where  she  always  is  —  in  the  sky." 

"  Doesn't  she  make  a  silver  path  on  the  water } " 
he  said,  with  a  sob  in  his  voice. 

''  What  are  you  crying  at  ?  The  mother  didn't 
mean  to  make  you  cry." 

She  strained  him  contritely  to  her  bosom,  and 
kissed  away  his  tears. 


28  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

XII 

The  train  for  Switzerland  started  so  early  that 
Brum  had  no  time  to  say  his  morning  prayers ;  so, 
the  carriage  being  to  themselves,  he  donned  his  phy- 
lacteries and  his  praying-shawl  with  the  blue  stripes. 

Zillah  sat  listening  to  the  hour-long  recitative  with 
admiration  of  his  memory. 

Early  in  the  hour  she  interrupted  him  to  say : 
"  How  lucky  I  haven't  to  say  all  that !  I  should  get 
tired." 

** That's  curious!"  replied  Brum.  "  I  was  just  say- 
ing, '  Blessed  art*  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  who  hath 
not  made  me  a  woman.'  But  a  woman  has  to  pray, 
too,  mother.  Else  why  is  there  given  a  special  form 
for  the  women  to  substitute  }  —  *  Who  hath  made  me 
according  to  His  will.'  " 

"Ah,  that's  only  for  learned  women.  Only 
learned  women  pray." 

''Well,  you'd  Hke  to  pray  the  Benediction  that 
comes  next,  mother,  I  know.     Say  it  with  me  —  do." 

She  repeated  the  Hebrew  obediently,  then  asked  : 
"  What  does  it  mean  .?  " 

" '  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  who  openest 
the  eyes  of  the  blind.'  " 

"  Oh,  my  poor  Brum !  Teach  it  me !  Say  the 
Hebrew  again." 

She  repeated  it  till  she  could  say  it  unprompted. 
And   then  throughout   the  journey  her  lips    moved 


''THEY   THAT   WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  29 

with   it   at   odd    times.     It   became   a   talisman  —  a 
compromise  with  the  God  who  had  failed  her. 

"  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  who  openest 
the  eyes  of  the  blind." 

XIII 

Mountains  were  the  great  sensation  of  the  pas- 
sage through  Switzerland.  Brum  had  never  seen 
a  mountain,  and  the  thought  of  being  among  the 
highest  mountains  in  Europe  was  thrilling.  Even 
Zillah's  eyes  could  scarcely  miss  the  mountains. 
She  painted  them  in  broad  strokes.  But  they  did 
not  at  all  correspond  to  Brum's  expectations  of  the 
Alps. 

"  Don't  you  see  glaciers  .-* "  he  asked  anxiously. 

'*  No,"  replied  Zillah,  but  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  the 
windows  of  passing  chalets  till  the  boy  discovered 
that  she  was  looking  for  glaziers  at  work. 

*'  Great  masses  of  ice,"  he  explained,  "  sliding 
down  very  slowly,  and  glittering  like  the  bergs  in 
the  Polar  regions." 

"  No,  I  see  none,"  she  said,  blushing. 

'*  Ah  !  wait  till  we  come  to  Mont  Blanc." 

Mont  Blanc  was  an  obsession  ;  his  geography  was 
not  minute  enough  to  know  that  the  route  did  not 
pass  within  sight  of  it.  He  had  expected  it  to 
dominate  Switzerland  as  a  cathedral  spire  dominates 
a  little  town. 


30  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 

"Mont  Blanc  is  15,784  feet  above  the  sea,"  he 
said  voluptuously.  "  Eternal  snow  is  on  its  top,  but 
you  will  not  see  that,  because  it  is  above  the  clouds." 

''  It  is,  then,  in  Heaven,"  said  Zillah. 

"God  is  there,"  replied  Brum  gravely,  and  burst 
out  with  Coleridge's  lines  from  his  school-book  :  — 

"  ^  God  !  let  the  torrents,  like  a  shout  of  nations, 
Answer  !  and  let  the  ice-plains  echo,  God! 
God!  sing  ye  meadow-streams  with  gladsome  voice  ! 
Ye  pine-groves,  with  your  soft  and  soul-like  sounds ! 
And  they,  too,  have  a  voice,  yon  piles  of  snow, 
And  in  their  perilous  fall  shall  thunder  God  ! ' " 

"Who  openest  the  eyes  of  the  blind,"  murmured 
Zillah. 

"There  are  five  torrents  rushing  down,  also," 
added  Brum.  " '  And  you,  ye  five  wild  torrents 
fiercely  glad.'  You'll  recognize  Mont  Blanc  by 
that.     Don't  you  see  them  yet,  mother  .? " 

"Wait,  I  think  I  see  them  coming." 

Presently  she  announced  Mont  Blanc  definitely  ; 
described  it  with  glaciers  and  torrents  and  its  top 
reaching  to  God. 

Brum's  face  shone. 

"  Poor  lamb !  I  may  as  well  give  him  Mont 
Blanc,"  she  thought  tenderly. 

XIV 

Endless  other  quaint  dialogues  passed  between 
mother  and  son  on  that  tedious  and  harassing  jour- 
ney southwards 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  31 

"  There'll  be  no  more  snow  when  we  get  to  Italy," 
Brum  explained.  ''Italy's  the  land  of  beauty  — 
always  sunshine  and  blue  sky.  It's  the  country  of 
the  old  Gods  —  Venus,  the  goddess  of  beauty;  Juno, 
with  her  peacocks ;  Jupiter,  with  his  thunderbolts, 
and  lots  of  others." 

"  But  I  thought  the  Pope  was  a  Christian,"  said 
Zillah. 

"  So  he  is.  It  was  long  ago,  before  people  believed 
in  Christianity." 

"  But  then  they  were  all  Jews." 

"  Oh  no,  mother.  There  were  Pagan  gods  that 
people  used  to  believe  in  at  Rome  and  in  Greece. 
In  Greece,  though,  these  gods  changed  their  names." 

''  So  !  "  said  Zillah  scornfully  ;  *'  I  suppose  they 
wanted  to  have  a  fresh  chance.  And  what's  become 
of  them  now  }  " 

"  They  weren't  ever  there,  not  really." 

"  And  yet  people  believed  in  them }  Is  it  possi- 
ble } "  Zillah  clucked  her  tongue  with  contemp- 
tuous surprise.  Then  she  murmured  mechanically,, 
" '  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  who  openest 
the  eyes  of  the  blind.'  " 

'*  Well,  and  what  do  people  believe  in  now  }  The 
Pope ! "  Brum  reminded  her.    "And  yet  he's  not  true." 

Zillah's  heart  sank.  ''  But  he's  really  there,"  she 
protested  feebly. 

"■  Oh  yes,  he's  there,  because  pilgrims  come  from 
all  parts  of  the  world  to  get  his  blessing." 


32  **rHEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS" 

Her  hopes  revived, 

"  But  they  wouldn't  come  unless  he  really  did 
them  good." 

"  Well,  if  you  argue  like  that,  mother,  you  might 
as  well  say  we  ought  to  believe  in  Christ." 

"Hush!  hush!"  The  forbidden  word  jarred  on 
Zillah.  She  felt  chilled  and  silenced.  She  had  to 
call  up  the  image  of  the  Irish  Fire- Woman  to  restore 
herself  to  confidence.  It  was  clear  Brum  must  not 
be  told ;  his  unf  aith  might  spoil  all.  No,  the  decep- 
tion must  be  kept  up  till  his  eyes  were  opened  —  in 
more  than  one  sense. 

XV 

After  Mont  Blanc,  Brum's  great  interest  was  the 
leaning  tower  of  Pisa.  "  It  is  one  of  the  wonders  of 
the  world,"  he  said;  "there  are  seven  altogether." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  wonderful  world,"  said  Zillah ;  "  I 
never  thought  about  it  before." 

And  in  truth  Italy  was  beginning  to  touch  sleep- 
ing chords.  The  cypresses,  the  sunset  on  the  moui^- 
tains,  the  white  towns  dozing  on  the  hills  under  the 
magical  blue  sky,  —  all  these  broad  manifestations  of 
an  obvious  beauty,  under  the  spur  of  Brum's  inces- 
sant interrogatory,  began  to  penetrate.  Nature  in 
unusual  combinations  spoke  to  her  as  its  habitual 
phenomena  had  never  done.  Her  replies  to  Brum 
did  rough  justice  to  Italy. 


"^THEY   THAT    WALK  TN  DARKNESS''  33 

Florence  recalled  "  Romola  "  to  the  boy.  He  told 
his  mother  about  Savonarola.     "  He  was  burnt !  " 

"  What !  "  cried  Zillah.  "  Burn  a  Christian  !  No 
wonder,  then,  they  burnt  Jews.     But  why  t  " 

"  He  wanted  the  people  to  be.  good.  All  good 
people  suffer."  ♦ 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Brum !     It  is  the  bad  who  suffer." 

Then  she  looked  at  his  wasted,  white  face,  grown 
thinner  with  the  weariness  of  the  long  journey 
through  perpetual  night,  and  wonder  at  her  own 
words  struck  her  silent. 


XVI 


They  arrived  at  last  in  the  Eternal  City,  having 
taken  a  final  run  of  many  hours  without  a  break. 
But  the  Pope  was  still  to  seek. 

Leaving  the  exhausted  Brum  in  bed,  Zillah  drove 
the  first  morning  to  the  Vatican,  where  Brum  said  he 
lived,  and  asked  to  see  him. 

A  glittering  Swiss  Guard  stared  blankly  at  her, 
and  directed  her  by  dumb  show  to  follow  the  stream 
of  people  —  the  pilgrims,  Zillah  told  herself.  She 
was  made  to  scrawl  her  name,  and,  thanking  God 
that  she  had  acquired  that  accomplishment,  she 
went  softly  up  a  gorgeous  flight  of  steps,  and  past 
awe-inspiring  creatures  in  tufted  helmets,  into  the 
Sistine  Chapel,  where  she  wondered  at  people  star- 
ing  ceilingwards   through  opera-glasses,  or   looking 


34  *'THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

downwards  into  little  mirrors.  Zillah  also  stared  up 
through  the  gloom  till  she  had  a  crick  in  the  neck, 
but  saw  no  sign  of  the  Pope.  She  inquired  of  the 
janitor  whether  he  was  the  Pope,  and  realized  that 
English  was,  after  all,  not  the  universal  language. 
She  returned  gloomily  to  see  after  Brum,  and  to  con- 
sider her  plan  of  campaign. 

"The  great  doctor  was  not  at  home,"  she  said. 
"We  must  wait  a  little." 

"  And  yet  you  made  us  hurry  so  through  every- 
thing," grumbled  Brum. 

Brum  remained  in  bed  while  Zillah  went  to  get 
some  lunch  in  the  dining-room.  -  A  richly  dressed  old 
lady  who  sat  near  her  noticed  that  she  was  eating 
Lenten  fare,  like  herself,  and,  assuming  her  a  fellow- 
Catholic,  spoke  to  her,  in  foreign-sounding  English, 
about  the  blind  boy  whose  arrival  she  had  observed. 

Zillah  asked  her  how  one  could  get  to  see  the 
Pope,  and  the  old  lady  told  her  it  was  very  difficult. 

"Ah,  those  blessed  old  times  before  1870! — ah, 
the  splendid  ceremonies  in  St  Peter's !  Do  you 
remember  them } " 

Zillah  shook  her  head.  The  old  lady's  assumption 
of  spiritual  fellowship  made  her  uneasy. 

But  St.  Peter's  stuck  in  her  mind.  Brum  had 
already  told  her  it  was  the  Pope's  house  of  prayer. 
Clearly,  therefore,  it  was  only  necessary  to  loiter 
about  there  with  Brum  to  chance  upon  him  and 
extort  his  compassionate  withdrawal  of  the  spell  of 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  35 

the  Evil  Eye.  With  a  culminating  inspiration  she 
bought  a  photograph  of  the  Pope,  and  overcoming 
the  first  shock  of  hereditary  repulsion  at  the  sight  of 
the  large  pendent  crucifix  at  his  breast,  she  studied 
carefully  the  Pontiff's  face  and  the  Papal  robes. 

Then,  when  Brum  declared  himself  strong  enough 
to  get  up,  they  drove  to  St.  Peter's,  the  instruction 
being  given  quietly  to  the  driver  so  that  Brum  should 
not  overhear  it. 

It  was  the  first  time  Zillah  had  ever  been  in  a 
cathedral;  and  the  vastness  and  glory  of  it  swept 
over  her  almost  as  a  reassuring  sense  of  a  greater 
God  than  she  had  worshipped  in  dingy  synagogues. 
She  walked  about  solemnly,  leading  Brum  by  the 
hand,  her  breast  swelling  with  suppressed  sobs  of 
hope.  Her  eyes  roved  everywhere,  searching  for 
the  Pope ;  but  at  moments  she  well-nigh  forgot  her 
disappointment  at  his  absence  in  the  wonder  and 
ghostly  comfort  of  the  great  dim  spaces,  and  the 
mysterious  twinkle  of  the  countless  lights  before  the 
bronze  canopy  with  its  golden-flashing  columns. 

"  Where  are  we,  mother } "  said  Brum  at  last. 

"  We  are  waiting  for  the  doctor." 

"  But  where  .-*  " 

"  In  the  waiting-room." 

"  It  seems  very  large,  mother." 

"No,  I  am  walking  round  and  round." 

"  There  is  a  strange  smell,  mother,  —  I  don't  know 
what  —  something  religious." 


36  ''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

''  Oh,  nonsense  !  "     She  laughed  uneasily. 

"  I  know  what  it  smells  like :  cold  marble  pillars 
and  warm  coloured  windows." 

Her  blood  froze  at  such  uncanny  sensibility. 

"  It  is  the  smell  of  the  medicines,"  she  murmured. 
Somehow  his  divination  made  it  more  difficult  to  con- 
fess to  him. 

"  It  feels  like  being  in  St.  Paul's  or  the  Abbey," 
he  persisted,  "  when  I  used  to  shut  my  eyes  to  hear 
the  organ  better."  He  had  scarcely  ceased  speaking, 
when  a  soft,  slow  music  began  to  thrill  with  life  the 
great  stone  spaces. 

Brum's  grasp  tightened  convulsively  :  a  light  leapt 
into  the  blind  face.  Both  came  to  a  standstill,  silent. 
In  Zillah's  breast  rapture  made  confusion  more  con- 
founded ;  and  as  this  pealing  grandeur,  swelling  more 
passionately,  upHfted  her  high  as  the  mighty  Dome, 
she  forgot  everything  —  even  the  need  of  explana- 
tion to  Brum  —  in  this  wonderful  sense  of  a  Power 
that  could  heal,  and  her  Hebrew  benediction  flowed 
out  into  sobbing  speech  :  — • 

"  '  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  who  openest 
the  eyes  of  the  blind.'  " 

But  Brum  had  fainted,  and  hung  heavy  on  her 
arm. 

XVII 

When  Brum  awoke,  in  bed  again,  after  his  long 
fainting-fit,  he  related  with  surprise  his  vivid  dream 


''THEY   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS''  37 

of  St.  Paul's,  and  Zillah  weakly  acquiesced  in  the 
new  deception,  especially  as  the  doctor  warned  her 
against  exciting  the  boy.  But  her  hopes  were 
brighter  than  ever ;  for  the  old  lady  had  beneficently 
appeared  from  behind  a  pillar  in  St.  Peter's  to  offer 
eau  de  Cologne  for  the  unconscious  Brum,  and  had 
then,  interesting  herself  in  the  couple,  promised  to 
procure  for  her  fellow-Catholics  admission  to  the 
next  Papal  reception.  Being  a  very  rich  and  fash- 
ionable old  lady,  she  kept  her  word ;  but  unfortu- 
nately, when  the  day  came  round.  Brum  was  terribly 
low  and  forbidden  to  leave  his  bed. 

Zillah  was  distracted.  If  she  should  miss  the  great 
chance  after  all !     It  might  ;never  recur  again. 

"  Brum,"  she  said  at  last,  "  this  is  the  only  day  for 
a  long  time  that  the  great  eye-doctor  receives  patients. 
Do  you  think  you  could  go,  my  lamb } " 

"  Why  won't  he  come  here — like  the  other  doctors .'' ' ' 

"  He  is  too  great." 

"Well,  I  daresay  I  can  manage.  It's  miserable 
lying  in  bed.  Fancy  coming  to  Rome  and  seeing 
nothing ! " 

With  infinite  care  Brum  was  dressed  and  wrapped 
up,  and  placed  in  a  specially  comfortable  brougham ; 
and  thus  at  last  mother  and  son  stood  waiting  in  one 
of  the  ante-chambers  of  the  Vatican,  amid  twenty 
other  pilgrims  whispering  in  strange  languages.  Zil- 
lah was  radiantly  assured :  the  mighty  Power,  what- 
ever it  was,  that  spoke  in  music  and  in  mountains, 


38  *'THEV   THAT    WALK  IN  DARKNESS'' 

would  never  permit  such  weary  journeyings  and  wait- 
ings to  end  in  the  old  darkness ;  the  malice  of  witches 
could  not  prevail  against  this  great  spirit  of  sunshine. 
For  Brum,  too,  the  long  pilgrimage  had  enveloped 
the  doctor  with  a  miraculous  glamour  as  of  an  eighth 
wonder  of  the  world. 

Drooping  wearily  on  his  mother's  arm,  but  wrought 
up  to  joyous  anticipation,  Brum  had  an  undoubting 
sense  of  the  patient  crowd  around  him  waiting,  as  in 
his  old  hospital  days,  for  admission  to  the  doctor's 
sanctum.  His  ear  was  strung  for  the  ting-ting  of  the 
bell  summoning  the  sufferers  one  by  one. 

At  last  a  wave  of  awe  swept  over  the  little  fashion- 
able gathering,  and  set  Zillah's  heart  thumping  and 
the  room  fading  in  mist,  through  which  the  tall, 
venerable,  robed  figure,  the  eagle  features  softened 
in  benediction,  gleamed  like  a  god's.  Then  she 
found  herself  on  her  knees,  with  Brum  at  her  side, 
and  the  wonderful  figure  passing  between  two  rows 
of  reverent  pilgrims. 

"Why  must  I  kneel,  mother.?"  murmured  Brum 
feebly. 

"Hush!  bush!"  she  whispered.  "The  great 
doc — "  she  hesitated  in  awe  of  the  venerable 
figure  —  "the  great  healer  is  here." 

"The  great  healer!"  breathed  Brum.  His  face 
•was  transfigured  with  ecstatic  forevision.  "'Who 
openeth  the  eyes  of  the  blind,'"  he  murmured,  as  he 
fell  forward  in  death. 


II 

TRANSITIONAL 


II 

TRANSITIONAL 


The  day  came  when  old  Daniel  Peyser  could  no 
longer  withstand  his  wife's  desire  for  a  wider  social 
sphere  and  a  horizon  blacker  with  advancing  bach- 
elors. For  there  were  seven  daughters,  and  not  a 
man  to  the  pack.  Indeed,  there  had  been  only  one 
marriage  in  the  whole  Portsmouth  congregation 
during  the  last  five  years,  and  the  Christian  papers 
had  had  reports  of  the  novel  ceremony,  with  the 
ritual  bathing  of  the  bride  and  the  breaking  of  the 
glass  under  the  bridegroom's  heel.  To  Mrs.  Peyser, 
brought  up  amid  the  facile  pairing  of  the  Russian 
pale,  this  congestion  of  celibacy  approached  im- 
morality. 

Portsmouth  with  its  careless  soldiers  and  sailors 
might  be  an  excellent  town  for  pawnbroking,  espe- 
cially when  one  was  not  too  punctiliously  acceptant 
of  the  ethics  of  the  heathen,  but  as  a  market  for 
maidens  —  even  with  dowries  and  pretty  faces  —  it 
was  hopeless.  But  it  was  not  wholly  as  an  emporium 
for  bachelors  that  London  appealed.  It  was  the 
natural  goal  of  the  provincial  Jew,  the  reward  of  his 

41 


42  TRANSITIONAL 

industry.  The  best  people  had  all  drifted  to  the 
mighty  magic  city,  whose  fascination  survived  even 
cheap  excursions  to  it. 

Would  father  deny  that  they  had  now  made 
enough  to  warrant  the  migration  t  No,  father 
would  not  deny  it.  Ever  since  he  had  left  Germany 
as  a  boy  he  had  been  saving  money,  and  his  surplus 
he  had  shrewdly  invested  in  the  neighbouring  soil  of 
Southsea,  fast  growing  into  a  watering-place.  Even 
allowing  three  thousand  pounds  for  each  daughter's 
dowry,  he  would  still  have  a  goodly  estate. 

Was  there  any  social  reason  why  they  should  not 
cut  as  great  a  dash  as  the  Benjamins  or  the  Rosen- 
weilers  1  No,  father  would  not  deny  that  his  girls 
were  prettier  and  more  polished  than  the  daughters 
of  these  pioneers,  especially  when  six  of  them 
crowded  around  the  stern  granite  figure,  arguing, 
imploring,  cajoling,  kissing. 

"  But  I  don't  see  why  we  should  waste  the  money,'* 
he  urged,  with  the  cautious  instincts  of  early  poverty. 

"  Waste  !  "  and  the  pretty  lips  made  reproachful 
"  Oh's  ! " 

"  Yes,  waste  !  "  he  retorted.  "  In  India  one  treads 
on  diamonds  and  gold,  but  in  London  the  land  one 
treads  on  costs  diamonds  and  gold." 

"  But  are  we  never  to  have  a  grandson  .-* "  cried 
Mrs.  Peyser. 

The  Indian  item  was  left  unquestioned,  so  that 
little    Schnapsie,    whose    childish    imagination   was 


TRANSITIONAL  43 

greatly  impressed  by  these  eventful  family  debates, 
had  for  years  a  vivid  picture  of  picking  her  way  with 
bare  feet  over  sharp-pointed  diamonds  and  pebbly 
gold.  Indeed,  long  after  she  had  learned  to  wonder 
at  her  father's  naifve  geography  the  word  ''India" 
always  shone  for  her  with  barbaric  splendour. 

Environed  by  so  much  persistent  femininity,  the 
rugged  elderly  toiler  was  at  last  nagged  into  accept- 
ing a  leisured  life  in  London. 

II 

And  so  the  family  spread  its  wings  joyfully  and 
migrated  to  the  wonder-town.  Only  its  head  and 
tail  —  old  Daniel  and  little  Schnapsie  —  felt  the 
least  sentiment  for  the  things  left  behind.  Old 
Daniel  left  the  dingy  synagogue  to  whose  presidency 
he  had  mounted  with  the  fattening  of  his  purse,  and 
in  which  he  bought  for  himself,  or  those  he  delighted 
to  honour,  the  choicest  privileges  of  ark-opening  or 
scroll-bearing;  left  the  cronies  who  dropped  in  to 
play  "  Klabberjagd  "  on  Sunday  afternoons  ;  left  the 
bustling  lucrative  Saturday  nights  in  the  shop  when 
the  heathen  housewives  came  to  redeem  their  Sab- 
bath finery. 

And  little  Schnapsie  —  who  was  only  eleven,  and 
not  keen  about  husbands  —  left  the  twinkling  tarry 
harbour,  with  its  heroic  hulks  and  modern  men-of-war 
amid  which  the  half -penny  steamer  plied ;  left   the 


44  TRANSITIONAL 

great  waves  that  smashed  on  the  pebbly  beach,  and 
the  friendly  moon  that  threw  shimmering  paths 
across  their  tranquillity  ;  left  the  narrow  lively  streets 
in  which  she  had  played,  and  the  school  in  which 
she  had  always  headed  her  class,  and  the  salt  wind 
that  blew  over  all. 

Little  Schnapsie  was  only  Schnapsie  to  her  father. 
Her  real  name  was  Florence.  The  four  younger 
girls  all  bore  pagan  names — Sylvia,  Lily,  Daisy, 
Florence  —  symbolic  of  the  influence  upon  the  family 
councils  of  the  three  elder  girls,  grown  to  years  of 
discretion  and  disgust  with  their  own  Leah,  Rachael, 
and  Rebecca.  Between  these  two  strata  of  girls  — 
Jewish  and  pagan  —  two  boys  had  intervened,  but 
their  stay  was  brief  and  pitiful,  so  that  all  this  pleth- 
ora of  progeny  had  not  provided  the  father  with  a 
male  .mourner  to  say  the  Kaddish.  But  it  seemed 
Hkely  a  grandson  would  not  long  be  a-wanting,  for 
the  eldest  girl  was  twenty-five,  and  all'  were  good- 
looking.  As  if  in  irony,  the  Jewish  group  was  blond, 
almost  Christian,  in  colouring  (for  they  took  after  the 
Teuton  father),  while  the  pagan  group  had  charac- 
teristically Oriental  traits.  In  little  Schnapsie  these 
Eastern  charms — a  whit  heavy  in  her  sisters  —  were 
repeated  in  a  key  of  exquisite  refinement.  The 
thick  black  eyebrows  and  hair  were  soft  as  silk,  dark 
dreamy  eyes  suffused  her  oval  face  with  poetry,  and 
her  skin  was  like  dead  ivory  flushing  into  life. 


TRANSITIONAL  45 

III 

The  first  year  at  Highbury,  that  genteel  suburb 
in  the  north  of  London,  was  an  enchanted  ecstasy 
for  the  mother  and  the  Jewish  group  of  girls,  taken 
at  once  to  the  bosom  of  a  great  German  clan,  and 
admitted  to  a  new  world  of  dances  and  dinners,  of 
**  at  homes  "  and  theatres  and  card  parties.  The 
eldest  of  the  pagan  group,  Sylvia — tyrannically  kept 
young  in  the  interests  of  her  sisters  —  was  the  only 
one  who  grumbled  at  the  change,  for  Lily  and  Daisy 
found  sufficient  gain  in  the  prospect  of  replacing  the 
elder  group  when  it  should  have  passed  away  in  an 
odour  of  orange  blossom.  The  scent  of  that  was 
always  in  the  air,  and  Mrs.  Peyser  and  her  three 
hopefuls  sniffed  it  night  and  day. 

*'  No,  no  ;  Rebecca  shall  have  him." 

"  Not  me !  I  am  not  going  to  marry  a  man  with 
carroty  hair.     Leah's  the  eldest ;  it's  her  turn  first." 

""  Thank  you,  my  dear.  Don't  give  away  what 
you  haven't  got." 

Every  new  young  man  who  showed  the  faintest 
signs  of  liking  to  drop  in,  provoked  a  similar  semi- 
facetious  but  also  semi-serious  canvassing  —  his  per- 
son, his  income,  and  the  girl  to  whom  he  should  be 
allotted  supplying  the  sauce  of  every  meal  at  which 
he  —  or  his  fellow  —  was  not  present. 

Thus,  whether  in  the  flesh  or  the  spirit,  the  Young 
Man  —  for  so  many  of  him  appeared  on  the  scene 


46  TRANSITIONAL 

that  he  hovered  in  the  air  rather  as  a  type  than  an 
individual  —  was  a  permanent  guest  at  the  Peyser 
table. 

But  all  this  new  domestic  excitement  did  not  com- 
pensate little  Schnapsie  for  her  moonlit  waters  and 
the  strange  ships  that  came  and  went  with  their 
cargo  of  mystery. 

And  poor  old  Daniel  found  no  cronies  to  appeal  to 
him  like  the  old,  nothing  in  the  roar  of  London  to 
compensate  for  the  Saturday  night  bustle  of  the 
pawn-shop,  no  dingy  little  synagogue  desirous  of  his 
presidential  pomp.  He  sat  inconspicuously  in  a 
handsome  half-empty  edifice,  and  knew  himself 
a  superfluous  atom  in  a  vast  lonely  wilderness. 

He  was  not,  indeed,  an  imposing  figure,  with  his 
ragged  graying  whiskers  and  his  boyish  blue  eyes. 
In  the  street  he  had  the  stoop  and  shuffle  of  the 
Ghetto,  and  forgot  to  hide  his  coarse  red  hands  with 
gloves ;  in  the  house  he  persisted  in  wearing  a  pious 
skull-cap.  At  first  his  more  adaptable  wife  and  his 
English-bred  daughters  tried  to  fit  him  for  decent 
society,  and  to  make  him  feel  at  home  during  their 
**  at  homes."  But  he  was  soon  relegated  to  the 
background  of  these  brilliant  social  tableaux;  for 
he  was  either  too  silent  or  too  talkative,  with  old- 
fashioned  Jewish  jokes  which  disconcerted  the  smart 
young  men,  and  with  Hebrew  quotations  which  they 
could  not  even  understand.  And  sometimes  there 
thrilled  through  the  small-talk  the  trumpet-note  of 


TRANSITIONAL  47 

his  nose,  as  he  blew  it  into  a  coloured  handkerchief. 
Gradually  he  was  eliminated  from  the  drawing-room 
altogether. 

But  for  some  years  longer  he  reigned  supreme  in 
the  dining-room  —  when  there  was  no  company. 
Old  habit  kept  the  girls  at  table  when  he  intoned 
with  noisy  unction  the  Hebrew  grace  after  meals ; 
they  even  joined  in  the  melodious  morceaux  that 
diversified  the  plain-chant.  But  little  by  little  their 
contributions  dwindled  to  silence.  And  when  they 
had  smart  company  to  dinner,  the  old  man  himself 
was  hushed  by  rows  of  blond  and  bugle  eyebrows  ; 
especially  after  he  had  once  or  twice  put  young  men 
to  shame  by  offering  them  the  honour  of  reciting  the 
grace  they  did  not  know. 

Daniel's  prayer  on  such  occasions  was  at  length 
reduced  to  a  pious  mumbling,  which  went  un- 
observed amid  the  joyous  clatter  of  dessert,  even  as 
his  pious  skull-cap  passed  as  a  preventive  against 
cold. 

Last  stage  of  all,  the  mumbling  of  his  company 
manners  passed  over  into  the  domestic  circle ;  and 
this  humble  whispering  to  God  became  symbolic  of 
his  suppression. 

IV 

**  I  don't  think  he  means  Rachael  at  all." 
*'  Oh,  how  can  you  say  so,  Leah }     It  was  me  he 
took  down  to  supper." 


48  TRANSITIONAL 

**  Nonsense !  it  isn't  either  of  you  he's  after ; 
that's  only  his  politeness  to  my  sisters.  Didn't  he 
say  the  bouquet  was  for  me  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Rebecca.  You  know  you  can't 
have  him.     The  eldest  must  take  precedence." 

This  changed  tone  indicated  their  humbler  attitude 
toward  the  Young  Man  as  the  years  went  by.  For 
the  first  young  man  did  not  propose,  either  to  the 
sisterhood  en  bloc  or  to  a  particular  sister.  And  his 
example  was  followed  by  his  successors.  In  fact,  a 
procession  of  young  men  passed  and  repassed  through 
the  house,  or  danced  with  the  girls  at  balls,  without 
a  single  application  for  any  of  these  many  hands. 
And  the  first  season  passed  into  the  second,  and  the 
second  into  the  third,  with  tantalizing  mirages  of 
marriage.  Balls,  dances,  dinners,  a  universe  of 
nebulous  matrimonial  matter  on  the  whirl,  but  never 
the  shot-off  star  of  an  engagement !  Mrs.  Peyser's 
hair  began  to  whiten  faster.  She  even  surreptitiously 
called  in  the  Shadchan,  or  rather  surrendered  to  his 
solicitations. 

**  Pooh  !  Not  find  any  one  suitable  }  "  he  declared, 
rubbing  his  hands.  "  I  have  hundreds  of  young  men 
on  my  books,  just  your  sort,  real  gentlemen." 

At  first  the  girls  refused  to  consider  applications 
from  such  a  source.  It  was  not  done  in  their  set, 
they  said. 

Mrs.  Peyser  snorted  sceptically.  "  Oh,  indeed ! 
and  pray  how  did  those  Rosenweiler  girls  find 
husbands  ? " 


TRANSITIONAL  49 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  Rosenweilers ! "  They  shrugged 
their  shoulders ;  they  knew  they  had  not  that  dis- 
advantage of  hideousness. 

Nevertheless  they  lent  an  ear  to  the  agent's  sug- 
gestions as  filtered  through  the  mother,  though 
under  pretence  of  deriding  them. 

But  the  day  came  when  even  that  pretence  was 
dropped,  and  with  broken  spirit  they  waited  eagerly 
for  each  new  possibility.  And  with  the  passing  of 
the  years  the  Young  Man  aged.  He  grew  balder,, 
less  gentlemanly,  poorer. 

Once  indeed,  he  turned  up  as  a  handsome  and 
wealthy  Christian,  but  this  time  it  was  he  that  was 
rejected  in  a  unanimous  sisterly  shudder.  Five  slow 
years  wore  by,  then  of  a  sudden  the  luck  changed. 
A  water-proof  manufacturer  on  the  sunny  side  of 
forty  appeared,  the  long  glacial  epoch  was  broken 
up,  and  the  first  orange  blossom  ripened  for  the 
Peyser  household. 

It  was  Rebecca,  the  youngest  of  the  Jewish  group,, 
who  proved  the  pioneer  to  the  canopy,  but  her 
marriage  gave  a  new  lease  of  youth  even  to  the 
oldest.  And  miraculously,  mysteriously,  within  a 
few  months  two  other  girls  flew  off  Mrs.  Peyser's 
shoulders  —  a  Jewish  and  a  pagan  —  though  Sylvia 
was  not  yet  formally  "  out." 

And  though  Leah,  the  first  born,  still  remained 
unchosen,  yet  Sylvia's  marriage  to  a  Bayswater 
household  had  raised  the  family  status,  and  provided 


60  TRANSITIONAL 

a  better  field  for  operations.  The  Shadchan  was 
frozen  off. 

But  he  returned.  For  despite  all  these  auguries 
and  auspices  another  arctic  winter  set  in.  No  orange 
blossoms,  only  desolate  lichens  of  fruitless  flirtation. 

Gradually  the  pagan  group  pushed  its  way  into 
unconcealable  womanhood.  The  problem  darkened 
all  the  horizon.  The  Young  Man  grew  middle-aged 
again.  He  lost  all  his  money ;  he  wanted  old  Daniel 
to  set  him  up  in  business.  Even  this  seemed  better 
than  a  barren  fine  ladyhood,  and  Leah  might  have 
even  harked  back  to  the  parental  pawn-shop  had  not 
another  sudden  epidemic  of  felicity  married  off  all 
save  little  Schnapsie  within  eighteen  months.  Mrs. 
Peyser  was  knocked  breathless  by  all  these  shocks. 
First  a  rich  German  banker,  then  a  prosperous  solici- 
tor (for  Leah),  then  a  Cape  financier  —  any  one  in 
himself  catch  enough  to  ''  gouge  out  the  eyes  "  of  the 
neighbours. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  she  said,  her  portly  bosom  swell- 
ing portlier  with  exultation  as  the  sixth  bride  was 
whirled  off  in  a  rice  shower  from  the  Highbury  villa, 
while  the  other  five  sat  around  in  radiant  matronhood. 
*'  I  told  you  to  come  to  London." 

Daniel  pressed  her  hand  in  gratitude  for  all  the 
happiness  she  had  given  herself  and  the  girls. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  Florence,"  she  went  on  wistfully. 

"  Ah,  little  Schnapsie  !  "  sighed  Daniel.  Somehow 
he  felt  he  would  have  preferred  her  hymeneal  felicity 


TRANSITIONAL  51 

to  all  these  marvellous  marriages.  For  there  had 
grown  up  a  strange  sympathy  between  the  poor  lonely 
old  man,  now  nearly  seventy,  and  his  little  girl,  now 
twenty-four.  They  never  conversed  except  about 
commonplaces,  but  somehow  he  felt  that  her  presence 
warmed  the  air.  And  she  —  she  divined  his  solitude, 
albeit  dimly ;  had  an  intuition  of  what  life  had  been 
for  him  in  the  days  before  she  was  born:  the  long 
days  behind  the  counter,  the  risings  in  the  gray  dawn 
to  chant  orisons  and  don  phylacteries  ere  the  pawn- 
shop opened,  the  lengthy  prayer  and  the  swift  supper 
when  the  shutters  were  at  last  put  up  —  all  the  bare 
rock  on  which  this  floriage  of  prosperity  had  been 
sown.  And  long  after  the  others  had  dropped  kiss- 
ing him  good-night,  she  would  tender  her  lips,  partly 
because  of  the  necessary  domestic  fiction  that  she  was 
still  a  baby,  but  also  because  she  felt  instinctively 
that  the  kiss  counted  in  his  life. 

Through  all  these  years  of  sordid  squabbles  and 
canvassings  and  weary  waiting,  all  those  endless 
scenes  of  hysteria  engendered  by  the  mutual  friction 
of  all  that  close-packed  femininity,  poor  Schnapsie 
had  lived,  shuddering.  Sometimes  a  sense  of  the 
pathos  of  it  all,  of  the  tragedy  of  women's  lives,  swept 
over  her.  She  regretted  every  inch  she  grew,  it 
seemed  to  shame  her  celibate  sisters  so.  She  clung 
willingly  to  short  skirts  until  she  was  of  age,  wore 
her  long  raven  hair  in  a  plait  with  a  red  ribbon. 

"Well,  Florence,"  said    Leah  genially,  when  the 


62  TRANSITIONAL 

last  outsider  at  Daisy's  wedding  had  departed,  "  it's 
your  turn  next.     You'd  better  hurry  up." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Florence  coldly.  "I  shall 
take  my  own  time ;  fortunately  there  is  no  one  be- 
hind me." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Leah,  playing  with  her  diamond 
rings.  "  It  don't  do  to  be  too  particular.  Why  don't 
you  come  round  and  see  me  sometimes } " 

"There  are  so  many  of  you  now,"  murmured 
Florence.  She  was  not  attracted  by  the  solicitors 
and  traders  in  whose  society  and  carriages  her  mother 
lolled  luxuriously,  and  she  resented  the  matronly  airs 
of  her  sisters.  With  Leah,  however,  she  was  con- 
scious of  a  different  and  more  paradoxical  provoca- 
tion. Leah  had  an  incredible  air  of  juvenihty.  All 
those  unthinkable,  innumerable  years  little  Schnapsie 
had  conceived  of  her  eldest  sister  as  an  old  maid, 
hopeless,  senescent,  despite  the  wonderful  belt  that 
had  kept  her  figure  dashing ;  but  now  that  she  was 
married  she  had  become  the  girlish  bride,  kittenish, 
irresistible,  while  little  Schnapsie  was  the  old  maid, 
the  sister  in  peril  of  being  passed  by.  And  indeed 
she  felt  herself  appallingly  ancient,  prematurely  aged 
by  her  long  stay  at  seventeen. 

"Yes,  you  are  right,  Leah,"  she  said  pensively, 
with  a  touch  of  malice.  "  To-morrow  I  shall  be 
twenty-four." 

"  What }  "  shrieked  Leah. 

"Yes,"  Florence  said  obstinately.     "And  oh,  how 


TRANSITIONAL  53 

glad  I  shall  be ! "  She  raised  her  arms  exultingly 
and  stretched  herself,  as  if  shooting  up  seven  years 
as  soon  as  the  pressure  of  her  sisters  was  removed. 

"  Do  you  hear,  mother  ?  "  whispered  Leah.  "  That 
fool  of  a  Florence  is  going  to  celebrate  her  twenty- 
fourth  birthday.  Not  the  slightest  consideration  for 
us  !  " 

"  I  didn't  say  I  would  celebrate  it  publicly,"  said 
Florence.  "  Besides,"  she  suggested,  smiling,  "  very 
soon  people  will  forget  that  I  am  not  the  eldest." 

"  Then  your  folly  will  recoil  on  your  own  head," 
said  Leah. 

Little  Schnapsie  gave  a  devil-may-care  shrug  —  a 
Ghetto  trait  that  still  clung  to  all  the  sisters. 

"Yes,"  added  Mrs.  Peyser.  "Think  what  it  will 
be  in  ten  years'  time ! " 

"  I  shall  be  thirty-four,"  said  Florence  imper- 
turbably.  Another  little  smile  lit  up  the  dreamy 
eyes.     "Then  I  shall  be  the  eldest." 

"  Madness ! "  cried  Mrs.  Peyser,  aloud,  forgetting 
that  her  daughters'  husbands  were  about.  "  God 
forbid  I  should  live  to  see  any  girl  of  mine  thirty- 
four  !  " 

"  Hush,  mother !  "  said  Florence  quietly.  "  I 
hope  you  will ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  you  will,  for  I 
shall  never  marry.  So  don't  bother'  to  put  me  on 
the  books — I'm  not  on  the  market.     Good-night." 

She  sought  out  poor  Daniel,  who,  awed  by  the 
culture  and  standing  of   his  five  sons-in-law,  not  to 


54  TRANSITIONAL 

speak  of  the  guests,  was  hanging  about  the  de- 
serted supper-room,  smoking  cigar  after  cigar,  much 
to  the  disgust  of  the  caterer's  men,  who  were  wait- 
ing to  spirit  away  the  box. 

Having  duly  kissed  her  father,  Uttle  Schnapsie 
retired  to  bed  to  read  Browning's  love-poems.  Her 
mother  had  to  take  a  glass  of  champagne  to  re- 
store her  ruffled  nerves  to  the  appropriate  ecstasy. 


V 


Poor  portly  Mrs.  Peyser  was  not  destined  to  en- 
joy her  harvest  of  happiness  for  more  than  a  few 
years.  But  these  years  were  an  overbrimming  cup, 
with  only  the  bitter  drop  of  Florence's  heretical 
indifference  to  the  Young  Man.  Environed  by  the 
six  households  which  she  had  begotten,  Mrs.  Pey- 
ser breathed  that  atmosphere  of  ebullient  babyhood 
which  was  the  breath  of  her  Jewish  nostrils ;  babies 
appeared  almost  every  other  month.  It  was  a  seeth- 
ing well-spring  of  healthy  life.  Religious  cere- 
monies connected  with  these  chubby  new-comers, 
or  medical  recipes  for  their  bodily  salvation,  ab- 
sorbed her.  But  her  exuberant  grandmotherliness 
usually  received  a  check  in  the  summer,  when  the 
babies  were  deported  to  scattered  sea-shores ;  and 
thus  it  came  to  pass  that  the  summer  of  her  death 
found  her  still  lingering  in  London  with  a  bad 
cold,    with    only    Daniel    and    httle    Schnapsie    at 


TRANSITIONAL  55 

hand.  And  before  the  others  could  be  called,  Mrs. 
Peyser  passed  away  in  peace,  in  the  old  Portsmouth 
bed,  overlooked  by  the  old  Hebrew  picture  exiled 
from  the  London  dining-room. 

It  was  a  curious  end.  She  did  not  know  she 
was  dying,  but  Daniel  was  anxious  she  should  not 
be  reft  into  silence  before  she  had  made  the  im- 
memorial proclamation  of  the  Unity.  At  the  same 
time  he  hesitated  to  appall  her  with  the  grim 
knowledge. 

He  was  blubbering  piteously,  yet  striving  to  hide 
his  sobs.  The  early  days  of  his  struggle  came 
back,  the  first  weeks  of  wedded  happiness,  then 
the  long  years  of  progressive  prosperity  and  godly 
cheerfulness  in  Portsmouth  ere  she  had  grown  fash- 
ionable and  he  unimportant;  and  a  vast  self-pity 
mingled  with  his  pitiful  sense  of  her  excellencies 
—  the  children  she  had  borne  him  in  agony,  the 
economy  of  her  house  management,  the  good  bar- 
gains she  had  driven  with  the  clod-pated  soldiers  and 
sailors,  the  later  splendour  of  her  social  achievement. 

And  little  Schnapsie  wept  with  a  sense  of  the 
vanity  of  these  dual  existences  to  which  she  owed 
her  own  empty  life. 

Suddenly  Mrs.  Peyser,  over  whose  black  eyes  a 
glaze  had  been  stealing,  let  the  long  dark  eye- 
lashes fall  over  them. 

"  Sarah  !  "  whispered  Daniel  frantically.  "  Say 
the  Shemang ! " 


56  TRANSITIONAL 

"  Hear,  O  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God,  the  Lord 
is  one,"  said  the  sensuous  lips  obediently. 

Little  Schnapsie  shrugged  her  shoulders  rebel- 
liously.     The  dogma  seemed  so  irrelevant. 

Mrs.  Peyser  opened  her  eyes,  and  a  beautiful 
mother-light  came  into  them  as  she  saw  the  weep- 
ing girl. 

*'Ah,  Florrie,  do  not  fret,"  she  said  reassuringly, 
in  her  long-lapsed  Yiddish.  "  I  will  find  thee  a 
bridegroom." 

Her  eyes  closed,  and  little  Schnapsie  shuddered 
with  a  weird  image  of  a  lover  fetched  from  the 
shrouded  dead. 

VI 

After  his  Sarah  had  been  lowered  into  "  The 
House  of  Life,"  and  the  excitement  of  the  tomb- 
stone recording  her  virtues  had  subsided,  Daniel 
would  have  withered  away  in  an  empty  world  but 
for  little  Schnapsie.  The  two  kept  house  together; 
the  same  big  house  that  had  reeked  with  so  much 
feminine  life,  and  about  which  the  odours  of  per- 
fumes and  powders  still  seemed  to  linger.  But 
father  and  daughter  only  met  at  meals.  He  spent 
hours  over  the  morning  paper,  with  the  old  quaint 
delusions  about  India  and  other  things  he  read  of, 
and  he  pottered  about  the  streets,  or  wandered  into 
the  Beth-Hamidrash,  which  a  local  fanatic  had  just 
instituted   in    North    London,  and   in  which,    under 


TRANSITIONAL  57 

the  guidance  of  a  Polish  sage,  Daniel  strove  to 
concentrate  his  aged  wits  on  the  ritual  problems 
of  Babylon.  At  long  intervals  he  brushed  his  old- 
fashioned  high  hat  carefully,  and  timidly  rang  the 
bell  of  one  of  his  daughters'  mansions,  and  was 
permitted  to  caress  a  loudly  remonstrating  baby ; 
but  they  all  lived  so  far  from  him  and  one  another 
in  this  mighty  London.  From  Sylvia's,  where  there 
was  a  boy  with  buttons,  he  had  always  been  fright- 
ened off,  and  when  the  others  began  to  emulate 
her,  his  visits  ceased  altogether.  As  for  the  sisters 
coming  to  see  him,  all  pleaded  overwhelming  do- 
mestic duty,  and  the  frigidity  of  Florence's  recep- 
tion of  them.  "  Now  if  you  lived  alone  —  or  with 
one  of  us!"  But  somehow  Daniel  felt  the •  latter 
alternative  would  be  as  desolate  as  the  former. 
And  though  he  knew  some  wide  vague  river  flowed 
between  even  his  present  housemate's  life  and  his 
own,  yet  he  felt  far  more  clearly  the  bridge  of  love 
over  which  their  souls  passed  to  each  other. 

Figure  then  the  septuagenarian's  amaze  when, 
one  fine  morning,  as  he  was  shuffling  about  in  his 
carpet  slippers,  the  servant  brought  him  word  that 
his  six  daughters  demanded  his  instantaneous  pres- 
ence in  the  drawing-room. 

The  shock  drove  out  all  thoughts  of  toilet;  his 
heart  beat  quicker  with  a  painful  premonition  of 
he  knew  not  what.  This  simultaneous  visit  re- 
called   funerals,    weddings.      He    looked   out   of    a 


68  TRANSITIONAL 

window  and  saw  four  carriages  drawn  up,  and 
that  completed  his  sense  of  something  elemental. 
He  tottered  into  the  drawing-room  —  grown  dingy 
now  that  it  had  no  more  daughters  to  dispose  of  — 
and  shrank  before  the  resplendence'  with  which 
their  presence  reinvested  it.  They  rustled  with 
silks,  shone  with  gold  necklaces,  and  impregnated 
the  air  with  its  ancient  aroma  of  powders  and  per- 
fumes. He  felt  himself  dwindling  before  all  this 
pungent  prosperity,  like  some  more  creative  Frank- 
enstein before  a  congress  of  his  own  monsters. 

They  did  not  rise  as  he  entered.  The  Jewish 
group  and  the  pagan  group  were  promiscuously 
seated  —  marriage  had  broken  down  all  the  ancient 
landmarks.  They  all  looked  about  the  same  age- 
lessness  —  a  standstill  buxom  matronhood. 

Daniel  stood  at  the  door,  glancing  from  one 
to  another.  Some  coughed ;  others  fidgeted  with 
muffs. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  father,"  said  Rachael  kindly, 
though  she  retained  the  arm-chair,  —  and  there  was 
a  general  air  of  relief  at  her  voice.  But  the  old 
embarrassment  returned  as  the  silence  reestabUshed 
itself  when  Daniel  had  drooped  into  a  stiff  chair. 

At  last  Leah  took  the  word :  "  We  have  come 
while  Florrie  is  at  her  slumming  — " 

"At  her  slumming!"  repeated  Sylvia,  with  more 
significance,  and  a  meaning  smile  spread  over  the 
six  faces. 


TRANSITIONAL  59 

"  Yes  ?  "  Daniel  murmured. 

"  —  Because  we  did  not  want  her  to  know  of 
our  coming." 

"  It  concerns  Schnapsie  .?  "   he  murmured. 

"  Yes,  your  little  Schnapsie,"  said  Daisy  viciously. 

"  Yes ;  she  has  no  time  to  come  and  see  us,''  cried 
Rebecca.  "But  she  has  plenty  of  time  for  her  — 
slumming'' 

"Well,  she  does  good,"  he  murmured  apologetically. 

"  A  fat  lot  of  good !  "  sniggered  Rachael. 

"To  herself  !  "  corrected  Lily. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  he  muttered  uneasily. 

"  Well  —  "  began  Lily.  "  You  tell  him,  Leah  ;  you 
know  more  about  it." 

"  You  know  as  much  as  I  do." 

He  looked  appealingly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  I  always  said  the  slums  were  dangerous  places 
for  people  of  our  class,"  said  Sylvia.  "  She  doesn't 
even  confine  herself  to  her  own  people." 

The  faces  began  to  lighten  —  evidently  they  felt 
the  ice  broken. 

"Dangerous!"  he  repeated,  catching  at  the  omi- 
nous word. 

"  Dreadful !  "  in  a  common  shudder. 

He  half  rose.     "  You  have  bad  news } "  he  cried. 

The  faces  gloomed  over,  the  heads  nodded. 

"  About  Schnapsie }  "  he  shrieked,  jumping  up. 

"Sit  down,  sit  down;  she's  not  dead,"  said  Leah 
contemptuously. 


60  TRANSITIONAL 

He  sat  down. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?     What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  She's  engaged  !  "  In  Leah's  mouth  the  word 
sounded  like  a  death-bell. 

"  Engaged ! "  he  breathed,  with  a  glimmering  fore- 
boding of  the  horror. 

"  To  a  Christian  !  "  said  Daisy  brutally. 

He  sank  back,  pale  and  trembling.  A  tense  silence 
fell  on  the  room. 

"  But  how .?     Who  .'*  "  he  murmured  at  last. 

The  girls  recovered  themselves.  Now  they  were 
all  speaking  at  once. 

''Another  slummer." 

"  He's  the  son  of  an  archdeacon." 

'*  An  awful  Christian  crank." 

"And  that's  your  pet  Schnapsie." 

"  If  we  had  wanted  Christians,  we  could  have  been 
married  twenty  years  ago." 

"  It's  a  terrible  disgrace  for  us." 

''  She  doesn't  consider  us  in  the  least." 

"  She'll  be  miserable,  anyhow.  When  they  quarrel, 
he'll  always  throw  it  up  to  her  that  she's  a  Jewess." 

"And  wouldn't  join  our  Daughters  of  Mercy  com- 
mittee—  had  no  time." 

"Wasn't  going  to  marry  —  turned  up  her  nose  at 
all  the  Jewish  young  men  !  " 

"But  she  would  have  told  me!"  he  murmured 
hopelessly.  "  I  don't  believe  it.  My  little  Schnap- 
sie !  " 


TRANSITIONAL  61 

"  Don't  believe  it  ?  "  snorted  Leah.  "  Why,  she 
didn't  even  deny  it." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  her,  then } " 

"  Have  we  spoken  to  her  !  Why,  she  says  Judaism 
is  all  nonsense  !     She  will  disgrace  us  all." 

The  blind  racial  instinct  spoke  through  them  — 
the  twenty-five  centuries  of  tested  separateness.  But 
Daniel  felt  in  super-addition  the  conscious  religious 
horror. 

"  But  is  she  to  be  married  in  a  Christian  church  t  " 
he  breathed. 

"  Oh,  she  isn't  going  to  marry  —  yet." 

His  poor  heart  fluttered  at  the  reprieve. 

"  She  doesn't  care  a  pin  for  our  feelings,"  went  on 
Leah.  "  But  of  course  she  won't  marry  while  you 
are  alive." 

Lily  took  up  the  thread.  "  We  all  told  her  if  she'd 
only  marry  a  Jew,  we'd  all  be  glad  to  have  you — in 
turn.  But  she  said  it  wasn't  that.  She  could  have 
you  herself ;  her  Alfred  wouldn't  mind.  It's  the 
shock  to  your  religious  feelings  that  keeps  her  back. 
She  doesn't  want  to  hurt  you." 

"God  bless  her,  my  good  little  Schnapsie!"  he 
murmured.  His  dazed  brain  did  not  grasp  all  the 
bearings,  was  only  conscious  of  a  vast  relief. 

Disgust  darkened  all  the  faces. 

He  groped  to  understand  it,  putting  his  hand  over 
the  white  hairs  that  straggled  from  his  skull-cap. 

"  But  then  —  then  it's  all  right." 


62  TRANSITIONAL 

"Yes,  all  right,"  said  Leah  brutally.  "But  for 
how  long  ? " 

Her  meaning  seized  him  like  an  icy  claw  upon  his 
heart.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  realized  the 
certainty  of  death,  and  simultaneously  with  the  cer- 
tainty its  imminence. 

"  We  want  you  to  put  a  stop  to  it  now!'  said 
Sylvia.  "  For  our  sakes  make  her  promise  that  even 
when  —  You're  the  only  one  who  has  any  influence 
over  her." 

She  rose,  as  if  to  wind  up  the  painful  interview, 
and  the  others  rose,  too,  with  a  multiplex  rustling  of 
silken  skirts.  He  shook  the  six  jewelled  hands  as  in 
a  dream,  and  promised  to  do  his  best;  and  as  he 
watched  the  Uttle  procession  of  carriages  roll  off,  it 
seemed  to  him  indeed  a  funeral,  and  his  own. 

vn 

Ah  God,  that  it  should  have  come  to  this.  Little 
Schnapsie  could  not  be  happy  till  he  was  dead. 
Well,  why  should  he  keep  her  waiting }  What 
mattered  the  few  odd  years  or  months  .**  He  was 
already  dead.  There  was  his  funeral  going  down 
the  street. 

To  speak  to  Schnapsie  he  had  never  intended, 
even  while  he  was  promising  it.  Those  years  of 
silent  life  together  had  made  real  conversation  impos- 
sible.    The  bridge  on  which  his  soul  passed  over  to 


TRANSITIONAL  63 

hers  was  a  bridge  over  which  hung  a  sacred  silence. 
Under  the  weight  of  words,  especially  of  angry- 
parental  words,  it  might  break  down  forever.  And 
that  would  be  worse  than  death. 

No;  little  Schnapsie  had  her  own  life,  and  he 
somehow  knew  he  had  not  the  right  to  question  it, 
even  though  it  seemed  on  the  verge  of  deadly  sin. 
He  could  not  have  expressed  it  in  logical  speech,  was 
not  even  clearly  conscious  of  it ;  but  his  tender  rela- 
tion with  her  had  educated  him  to  a  sense  of  her 
moral  rightness,  which  now  survived  and  subsisted 
with  his  conviction  that  she  was  hopelessly  astray. 
No,  he  had  not  the  right  to  interfere  with  her  life, 
with  her  prospect  of  happiness  in  her  own  way.  He 
must  give  up  living.  Little  Schnapsie  must  be  nearly 
thirty ;  the  best  of  her  youth  was  gone.  She  should 
be  happy  with  this  strange  man. 

But  if  he  killed  himself,  that  would  bring  disgrace 
on  the  family  —  and  little  Schnapsie.  Perhaps,  too, 
Alfred  would  not  marry  her.  Was  there  no  way  of 
slipping  quietly  out  of  existence .''  But  then  suicide 
was  another  deadly  sin.  If  only  that  had  really  been 
his  funeral  procession ! 

"  O  God,  God  of  Israel,  tell  me  what  to  do !  " 

VIII 

A  sudden  inspiration  leapt  to  his  heart.  She 
should  not  have  to  wait  for  his  death  to  be  happy ; 


64  TRANSITIONAL 

he  would  live  to  see  her  happy.  He  would  pretend 
that  her  marriage  cost  him  no  pang;  indeed,  would 
not  truly  the  pang  be  swallowed  up  in  the  thought  of 
her  happiness  ?  But  would  she  be  happy  ?  Could 
she  be  happy  with  this  alien  ?  Ah,  there  was  the 
chilling  doubt !  If  a  quarrel  came,  would  not  the 
man  always  throw  it  in  her  face  that  she  was  a 
Jewess  ?  Well,  that  must  be  left  to  herself.  She  was 
old  enough  not  to  rush  into  misery.  Through  all 
these  years  he  had  taken  her  pensive  brow  as  the 
seat  of  all  wisdom,  her  tender  eyes  as  the  glow  of  all 
goodness,  and  he  could  not  suddenly  readjust  himself 
to  a  contradictory  conception.  By  the  time  she  came 
in  he  had  composed  himself  for  his  task. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  he  said,  with  a  beaming  smile,  "  I 
have  heard  the  good  news." 

The  answering  smile  died  out  of  her  eyes.  She 
looked  frightened. 

"  It's  all  right,  little  Schnapsie,"  he  said  roguishly. 
"  So  now  I  shall  have  seven  sons-in-law.  And  Alfred 
the  Second,  eh  .?  " 

"  You  have  heard  .?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  pinching  her  ear.  "Thinks  she 
can  keep  anything  from  her  old  father,  does  she }  " 

"  But  do  you  know  that  he  is  a  —  a  —  " 

"  A  Christian  .?  Of  course.  What's  the  difference, 
as  long  as  he's  a  good  man,  eh  .?  "    He  laughed  noisily. 

Little  Schnapsie  looked  more  frightened  than  ever. 
Were  her  father's  wits  wandering  at  last } 


TRANSITIONAL  66 

"But  I  thought  —  " 

"  Thought  I  would  want  you  to  sacrifice  yourself ! 
No,  no,  my  dear ;  we  are  not  in  India,  where  women 
are  burnt  alive  to  please  their  dead  husbands." 

Little  Schnapsie  had  an  irrelevant  vision  of  herself 
treading  on  diamonds  and  gold.  She  murmured, 
"  Who  told  you  }  " 

''  Leah." 

"  Leah  !     But  Leah  is  angry  about  it !  " 

"  So  she  is.  She  came  to  me  in  a  tantrum,  but  I 
told  her  whatever  little  Schnapsie  did  was  right." 

"  Father !  "  With  a  sudden  cry  of  belief  and  af- 
fection she  fell  on  his  neck  and  kissed  him.  "  But 
isn't  the  darling  old  Jew  shocked .'' "  she  said,  half 
smiling,  half  weeping. 

Cunning  lent  him  clairvoyance.  "  How  much 
Judaism  is  there  in  your  sisters'  husbands .?  "  he  said. 
"And  without  the  religion,  what  is  the  use  of  the 
race  1 " 

*'  Why,  father,  that's  what  I'm  always  preach- 
ing !  "  she  cried,  in  astonishment.  ''  Think  what  our 
Judaism  was  in  the  dear  old  Portsmouth  days.  What 
is  the  Sabbath  here  1  A  mockery.  Not  one  of  your 
sons-in-law  closes  his  business.  But  there,  when  the 
Sabbath  came  in,  how  beautiful !  Gradually  it  glided, 
glided  ;  you  heard  the  angel's  wings.  Then  its  shin- 
ing presence  was  upon  you,  and  a  holy  peace  settled 
over  the  house." 

"  Yes,  yes."     His  eyes  filled  with  tears.     He  saw 


66  TRANSITIONAL 

the  row  of  innocent  girl  faces  at  the  white  Sabbath 

table.      What  had  London   and  prosperity  brought 

him  instead? 

*'  And  then  the  Atonement  days,  when  the  ram's 

horn  thrilled  us  with  a  sense  of  sin  and  judgment, 

when  we  thought  the  heavenly  scrolls  were  being 

signed   and   sealed.     Who    feels   that   here,  father } 

Some  of  us  don't  even  fast." 

'' True,  true."     He    forgot  his  part.     "Then  you 

are  a  good  Jewess  still  1 " 

She  shook   her  head  sadly.     "We  have  outlived 

our  destiny.     Our  isolation  is  a  meaningless  relic." 
But  she  had  kindled  a  new  spark  of  hope. 
"  Can't  you  bring  him  over  to  us  .'* " 
"  To  what }     To  our  empty  synagogues  .? " 
"  Then  you  are  going  over  to  him.?"     He  tried  to 

keep  his  voice  steady. 

"I  must;  his  father  is  an  archdeacon." 

"  I   know,  I  know,"  he  said,  though  she  might  as 

well  have  said  an  archangel. 

"  But  you  do  not  believe  in  —  in  —  " 

"  I  believe  in  self-sacrifice ;  that  is  Christianity." 

"  Is  it.?     I  thought  it  was  three  Gods." 

"That  is  not  the  essential." 

"  Thank  God ! "  he  said.    Then  he  added  hurriedly  : 

"But  will  you  be  happy  with  him.?     Such  different 

bringing  up !     You  can't  really  feel  close  to  him." 
She   laughed   and   blushed.     "There   are   deeper 

things  than  one's  bringing  up,  father." 


TRANSI 1 1  ON  A  L  67 

•*  But  if  after  marriage  you  should  have  a  quarrel, 
he  would  always  throw  up  to  you  that  you  are  a 
Jewess." 

"  No,  Alfred  will  never  do  that." 

"  Then  make  haste,  little  Schnapsie,  or  your  old 
father  won't  live  to  see  you  under  the  canopy." 

She  smiled  happily,  believing  him.  "  But  there 
won't  be  any  canopy,"  she  said. 

"Well,  well,  whatever  it  is,"  he  laughed  back,  with 
horrid  imagining  that  it  might  be  a  Cross. 


IX 


It  was  agreed  between  them  that,  to  avoid  endless 
family  councils,  the  sisters  should  not  be  told,  and 
that  the  ceremony  should  be  conducted  as  privately 
as  possible.  The  archdeacon  himself  was  coming  up 
to  town  to  perform  the  ceremony  in  the  church  of 
another  of  his  sons  in  Chalk  Farm.  After  the  short 
honeymoon,  Daniel  was  to  come  and  live  with  the 
couple  in  Whitechapel,  for  they  were  to  live  in  the 
centre  of  their  labours.  Poor  Daniel  tried  to  find 
some  comfort  in  the  thought  that  Whitechapel  was 
a  more  Jewish  and  a  homelier  quarter  than  Highbury. 
But  the  unhomely  impression  produced  upon  him 
by  his  latest  son-in-law  neutralized  everything.  All 
his  other  sons-in-law  had  more  or  less  awed  him,  but 
beneath  the  awe  ran  a  tunnel  of  brotherhood.     With 


68  TRANSITIONAL 

this  Alfred,  however,  he  was  conscious  of  a  glacial 
current,  which  not  all  the  young  man's  cordiality 
could  tepefy. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  will  be  happy  with  him,  little 
Schnapsie  ?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  You  dear  worrying  old  thing  !  " 

"  But  if  after  marriage  you  quarrel,  he  will  always 
throw  it  up  to  you  that  you  are  —  " 

"  And  I'll  throw  it  up  to  him  that  he  is  a  Christian, 
and  oughtn't  to  quarrel." 

He  was  silenced.  But  his  heart  thanked  God  that 
his  dear  old  wife  had  been  spared  the  coming  ordeal. 

"This  too  was  for  good,"  he  murmured,  in  the 
Hebrew  proverb. 

And  so  the  tragic  day  drew  nigh. 

X 

One  short  week  before,  Daniel  was  wandering 
about,  dazed  by  the  near  prospect.  An  unholy  fas- 
cination drew  him  toward  Chalk  Farm,  to  gaze  on 
the  church  in  which  the  profane  union  would  be 
perpetrated.  Perhaps  he  ought  even  to  go  inside ;  to 
get  over  his  first  horror  at  being  in  such  a  building, 
so  as  not  to  betray  himself  during  the  actual  cere- 
mony. 

As  he  drew  near  the  heathen  edifice  he  saw  a 
striped  awning,  carriages,  a  bustle  of  people  entering, 
a  pressing,  peeping  crowd.     A  wedding  ! 


TRANSITIONAL  69 

Ah,  good !  There  was  no  doubt  now  he  must  go 
in ;  he  would  see  what  this  unknown  ceremony  in 
this  unknown  building  was  like.  It  would  be  a  sort 
of  rehearsal ;  it  would  help  to  steel  him  at  the  tragic 
moment.  He  was  passing  through  the  central  doors 
with  some  other  men,  but  a  policeman  motioned  them 
to  a  side  door.     He  shuffled  timidly  within. 

Full  as  the  church  was,  the  chill  stone  spaces 
struck  cold  to  his  heart ;  all  the  vast  alien  life  they 
typified  froze  his  soul.  The  dread  word  Meshtimad 
—  apostate  —  seemed  echoing  and  reechoing  from 
the  cold  pillars.  He  perceived  his  companions  had 
bared  their  heads,  and  he  hastily  snatched  off  his 
rusty  beaver.  The  unaccustomed  sensation  in  his 
scalp  completed  his  sense  of  unholiness. 

Nothing  seemed  going  on  yet,  but  as  he  slipped 
into  a  seat  in  the  aisle  he  became  aware  of  an  organ 
playing  joyous  preludes,  almost  jiggish.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  wondered  dully  what  there  was  to  be  gay 
about,  and  his  eyes  filled  with  bitter  tears. 

A  craning  forward  in  the  nondescript  congregation 
made  the  old  man  peer  forward. 

He  saw,  at  the  far  end  of  the  church,  a  sort  of 
platform  upon  which  four  men,  in  strange,  flowing 
robes,  stood  under  a  cross.  He  hid  his  eyes  from 
the  sight  of  the  symbol  that  had  overshadowed  his 
ancestors'  lives.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  again  the 
men  were  kneeling.  Would  he  have  to  kneel,  he 
wondered.      Would  his  old  joints    have   to    assume 


70  TRANSITIONAL 

that  pagan  posture  ?  Presently  four  bridesmaids, 
shielded  by  great  glowing  bouquets,  appeared  on  the 
platform,  and  descending,  passed  with  measured  the- 
atric pace  down  the  farther  avenue,  too  remote  for 
his  clear  vision.  His  neighbours  stood  up  to  stare  at 
them,  and  he  rose,  too.  And  throughout  the  organ 
bubbled  out  its  playful  cadenzas. 

A  stir  and  a  buzz  swept  through  the  church.  A 
procession  began  to  file  in.  At  its  head  was  a  pale, 
severe  young  man,  supported  by  a  cheerful  young 
man.  Other  young  men  followed ;  then  the  brides- 
maids reappeared.  And  finally  - —  target  of  every 
glance  —  there  passed  a  glory  of  white  veil  supported 
by  an  old  military  looking  man  in  a  satin  waistcoat. 

Ah,  that  would  be  he  and  Schnapsie,  then.  Up 
that  long  avenue,  beneath  all  these  curious  Christian 
eyes,  he,  Daniel  Peyser,  would  have  to  walk.  He 
tried  to  rehearse  it  mentally  now,  so  that  he  might 
not  shame  her ;  he  paced  pompously  and  stiflfly,  with 
beautiful  Schnapsie  on  his  arm,  a  glory  of  white  veil. 
He  saw  himself  slowly  reaching  the  platform,  under 
the  chilling  cross ;  then  everything  swam  before  him, 
and  he  sank  shuddering  into  his  seat.  His  little 
Schnapsie !  She  was  being  sucked  up  into  all  this 
hateful  heathendom,  to  the  seductive  music  of  satanic 
orchestras. 

He  sat  in  a  strange  daze,  vaguely  conscious  that 
the  organ  had  ceased,  and  that  some  preacher's  reci- 
tative  had    begun    instead.       When    he   looked    up 


TRANSITIONAL  .71 

again,  the  bridal  party  before  the  altar  loomed  vague, 
as  through  a  mist.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
clouded  brow.  Of  a  sudden  a  sentence  of  the  recita- 
tive pierced  sharply  to  his  brain  :  — 

**  Therefore  if  any  man  can  show  any  just  cause 
why  they  may  not  lawfully  be  joined  together,  let 
him  now  speak,  or  else  hereafter  forever  hold  his 
peace." 

O  God  of  Israel !  Then  it  was  the  last  chance ! 
He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  shouted  in  agony :  "  No, 
no,  she  must  not  marry  him  !     She  must  not !  " 

All  heads  turned  toward  the  shabby  old  man. 
An  electric  shiver  ran  through  the  church.  The 
bride  paled ;  a  bridesmaid  shrieked ;  the  minister, 
taken  aback,  stood  silent.  A  white-gloved  usher 
hurried  up. 

"  Do  you  forbid  the  banns  t  "  called  the  minister. 

The  old  man's  mind  awoke,  and  groped  mistily. 

"  Come,  what  have  you  to  say } "  snapped  the 
usher. 

*' I  —  I  —  nothing,"  he  murmured  in  awed  confu- 
sion. 

''  He  is  drunk,"  said  the  usher.  "  Out  with  you, 
my  man."  He  hustled  Daniel  toward  the  side  door, 
and  let  it  swing  behind  him. 

But  Daniel  shrank  from  facing  the  cordon  of  spec- 
tators outside.  He  hung  miserably  about  the  vestibule 
till  the  Wedding  March  swelled  in  ironic  triumph, 
and  the  human  outpour  swept  him  into  the  street. 


72  TRANSITIONAL 


XI 

His  abstracted  look,  his  ragged  talk,  troubled 
Schnapsie  at  the  evening  meal,  but  she  could  not 
elicit  that  anything  had  happened. 

In  the  evening  paper,  her  eye,  avid  of  marriage 
items,  paused  on  a  big-headed  paragraph. 

•      «  I   FORBID  THE  BANNS  !  " 

STRANGE   SCENE   AT   A   CHALK    FARM    CHURCH. 

When  she  had  finished  the  paragraph  and  read 
another,  the  first  began  to  come  back  to  her,  shad- 
owed with  a  strange  suspicion.  Why,  this  was  the 
very  church  —  }  A  Jewish-looking  old  man  —  ! 
Great  heavens !  Then  all  this  had  been  mere  pose, 
self-sacrifice.  And  his  wits  were  straying  under  the 
too  heavy  burden !  Only  blind  craving  for  her  own 
happiness  could  have  made  her  believe  that  the  men- 
tal habits  of  seventy  years  could  be  broken  off. 

"  Well,  father,"  she  said  brightly,  "you  will  be  los- 
ing me  very  soon  now." 

His  lips  quivered  into  a  pathetic  smile. 

"  I  am  very  glad."  He  paused,  struggling  with 
himself.     "  If  you  are  sure  you  will  be  happy  !  " 

"  But  haven't  we  talked  that  over  enough,  father.?" 

"  Yes  —  but  you  know  —  if  a  quarrel  arose,  he 
would  always  throw  it  up — that  —  " 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,"  she  laughed.    But  the  repe- 


TRANSITIONAL  73 

tition  of  the  old  thought  struck  her  poignantly  as  a 
sign  of  maundering  wits. 

"  And  you  are  sure  you  will  get  along  together? " 

"Quite  sure." 

"Then  I  am  glad."  He  drew  her  to  him,  and 
kissed  her. 

She  broke  down  and  wept  under  the  conviction  of 
his  lying.     He  became  the  comforter  in  his  turn. 

"  Don't  cry,  little  Schnapsie,  don't  cry.  I  didn't 
mean  to  frighten  you.  Alfred  is  a  good  man,  and  I 
am  sure,  even  if  you  quarrel,  he  will  never  throw 
it  — "  The  mumbling  passed  into  a  kiss  on  her 
wet  cheek. 

XH 

That  night,  after  a  long  passionate  vigil  in  her 
bedroom,  little  Schnapsie  wrote  a  letter :  — 

"Dea^iest  Alfred,  —  This  will  be  as  painful  for  you  to 
read  as  for  me  to  write.  I  find  at  the  eleventh  hour  I  cannot 
marry  you.  I  owe  it  to  you  to  state  my  reason.  As  you  know, 
I  did  not  consent  to  our  love  being  crowned  by  union  till  my 
father  had  given  his  consent.  I  now  find  that  this  consent  was 
not  the  free  outcome  cf  my  father\s  soul,  that  it  was  only  tojDro- 
mote  my  happiness.  Try  to  imagine  what  it  means  for  an  old 
man  of  seventy  odd  years  to  wrench  himself  away  from  all  his 
life-long  prejudices,  and  you  will  realize  what  he  has  been  try- 
ing to  do  for  me.  But  the  wrench  was  beyond  his  strength. 
He  is  breaking  his  heart  over  it,  and,  I  fear,  even  wandering 
in  his  mind. 

"You  will  say,  let  us  again  consent  to  wait  for  a  contingency 
which  I  am  not  cold-blooded  enough  to  set  down  more  openly. 


74  TRANSITIONAL 

But  1  do  not  think  it  is  fair  to  you  to  let  you  risk  your  happi- 
ness further  by  keeping  it  entangled  with  mine.  A  new  current 
of  thought  has  been  set  going  in  my  mind.  If  a  religion  that 
I  thought  all  formalism  is  capable  of  producing  such  types  of 
abnegation  as  my  dear  father,  then  it  must,  too,  somewhere  or 
other,  hold  in  solution  all  those  ennobling  ingredients,  all  those 
stimuli  to  self-sacrifice,  which  the  world  calls  Christian.  Per- 
haps I  have  always  misunderstood.  We  were  so  badly  taught. 
Perhaps  the  prosaic  epoch  of  Judaism  into  which  I  was  born 
is  only  transitional,  perhaps  it  only  belongs  to  the  middle  classes, 
for  I  know  I  felt  more  of  its  poetry  in  my  childhood ;  perhaps 
the  future  will  develop  (or  recultivate)  its  diviner  sides  and  lay 
more  stress  upon  the  life  beautiful,  and  thus  all  this  blind  in- 
stinct of  isolation  may  prove  only  the  conservation  of  the  race 
for  its  nobler  future,  when  it  may  still  become,  in  very  truth, 
a  witness  to  the  Highest,  a  chosen  people  in  whom  all  the 
families  of  the  earth  may  be  blessed.  I  do  not  know ;  all  this 
is  very  confused  and  chaotic  to  me  to-night.  I  only  know  I 
can  hold  out  no  certain  hope  of  the  earthly  fulfilment  of  our 
love.  I,  too,  feel  in  transition,  and  I  know  not  to  what.  But, 
dearest  Alfred,  shall  we  not  be  living  the  Christian  life — the 
life  of  abnegation  —  more  truly  if  we  give  up  the  hope  of  per- 
sonal happiness?  Forgive  me,  darling,  the  pain  I  am  causing 
you,  and  thus  help  me  to  bear  my  own. 

"  Your  friend  till  death, 

"Florence." 

It  was  an  hour  past  midnight  ere  the  letter  was 
finished,  and  when  it  was  sealed  a  sense  of  relief  at 
remaining  in  the  Jewish  fold  stole  over  her,  though 
she  would  scarcely  acknowledge  it  to  herself,  and 
impatiently  analyzed  it  away  as  hereditary.  And 
despite  it,  if  she  slept  on  the  letter,  would  it  ever  be 
posted  ? 

But  the  house  was   sunk  in  darkness.      She  was 


TRANSITIONAL  75 

the  only  creature  stirring.  And  yet  she  yearned  to 
have  the  thing  over,  irrevocable.  Perhaps  she  might 
venture  out  herself  with  her  latch-key.  There  was 
a  letter-box  at  the  street  corner.  She  lit  a  candle 
and  stole  out  on  the  landing,  casting  a  monstrous 
shadow  which  frightened  her.  In  her  over-wrought 
mood  it  almost  seemed  an  uncanny  creature  grinning 
at  her.  Her  mother's  death-bed  rose  suddenly  be- 
fore her ;  her  mother's  voice  cried :  *'  Ah,  Florrie, 
do  not  fret.  I  will  find  thee  a  bridegroom."  Was 
this  the  bridegroom  —  was  this  the  only  one  she 
would  ever  know.? 

"Father!  father!"  she  shrieked,  with  sudden 
terror. 

A  door  was  thrown  open ;  a  figure  shambled  forth 
in  carpet  slippers  —  a  dear,  homely,  reassuring  figure 
— holding  the  coloured  handkerchief  which  had  helped 
to  banish  him  from  the  drawing-room.  His  face  was 
smeared ;  his  eyelids  under  the  pushed-up  horn  spec- 
tacles were  red :  he,  too,  had  kept  vigil. 

*'  What  is  it .?     What  is  it,  little  Schnapsie  .?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  —  I  —  I  only  wanted  to  ask  you  if 
you  would  be  good  enough  to  post  this  letter  —  to- 
night." 

"Good  enough.?  Why,  I  shall  enjoy  a  breath  of 
air." 

He  took  the  letter  and  essayed  a  roguish  laugh 
as  his  eye  caught  the  superscription. 

"  Ho  !    ho  !  "      He  pinched   her  cheek.      "  So  we 


76  TRANSITIONAL 

mustn't  let  a  day  pass  without  writing  to  him, 
eh  ? "  , 

She  quivered  under  this  unforeseen  misconception. 

*'No,"  she  echoed,  with  added  firmness,  "we 
mustn't  let  a  day  pass." 

"  But  go  to  bed  at  once,  little  Schnapsie.  You 
look  quite  pale.  If  you  stay  up  so  late  writing  him 
letters,  you  won't  make  him  a  beautiful  bride." 

"  No,"  she  repeated,  "  I  won't  make  him  a  beauti- 
ful bride." 

She  heard  the  hall  door  close  gently  upon  his 
cautious  footsteps,  and  her  eyes  dimmed  with  divine 
tears  as  she  thought  of  the  joy  that  awaited  his  re- 
turn. 


Ill 

NOAH'S   ARK 


Ill 

NOAH'S    ARK 

I 

On  a  summer's  day  toward  the  close  of  the  first 
quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century  after  Christ,  Peloni 
walked  in  "the  good  place  "  of  the  Frankfort y//^<?;^- 
gasse  and  pondered.  At  times  he  came  to  a  stand- 
still and  appeared  to  study  the  inscriptions  on  the 
tumbled  tombstones,  or  the  carven  dragons,  shields, 
and  stars,  but  his  black  eyes  burnt  inward  and  he 
saw  less  the  tragedy  of  Jewish  death  than  the  tragedy 
of  Jewish  life. 

For  "  the  good  place  "  was  the  place  of  death. 

Here  alone  in  Frankfort  —  in  this  shut-in  bit  of 
the  shut-in  Jew-street  —  was  true  peace  for  Israel. 
The  rest  of  the  Jew-street  offered  comparative  tran- 
quillity even  for  the  living  ;  yet  when,  ninety  years 
before  Peloni  was  born,  the  great  fire  had  raged 
therein,  the  inhabitants  had  locked  the  Ghetto-gate 
against  the  Christians,  less  fearful  of  the  ravaging 
flames  than  of  their  fellow-citizens.  Even  to-day, 
if  he  ventured  outside  the  Judengasse,  Peloni  must 
tread  delicately.  The  foot-path  was  not  for  him  : 
he  must  plod  on  the  dusty  road,  with  all  the  other 

79 


80  '  NOAH'S  ARK 

beasts.  In  some  places  the  very  road  was  too  holy 
for  him,  and  any  passer-by  might  snatch  off  his  hat 
in  punishment  for  his  breaking  bounds.  The  ragged 
street  urchin  or  the  staggering  drunkard  might  cry. 
to  him  ^'^Jiidy  niach  mores:  Jew,  mind  your  man- 
ners." 

Some  ten  years  ago  the  Frankfort  Ghetto  had 
been  verbally  abolished  by  a  civilized  archduke, 
caught  up  in  the  wave  of  Napoleonic  toleration. 
Peloni  had  shared  in  the  exultation  of  the  Jews  at 
the  final  dissipation  of  the  long  night  of  mediaeval- 
ism.  He  had  written  a  Hebrew  poem  on  it,  brill- 
iantly rhymed,  congested  with  apt  quotations  from 
Bible  and  Talmud,  the  whole  making  an  acrostic 
upon  the  name  of  the  enlightened  Karl  Theodor  von 
Dalberg.  Henceforth  Israel  would  take  his  place 
among  the  peoples,  honour  on  his  brow,  love  in  his 
heart,  manhood  in  his  limbs.  A  gracious  letter  of 
acknowledgment  from  the  archduke  was  displayed  in 
the  window  of  Peloni's  little  bookselling  establish- 
ment, amid  the  door-amulets,  phylacteries,  praying- 
shawls,  Purim-scrolls,  and  Hebrew  volumes. 

But  now  the  prince  had  been  ousted.  Napoleon 
was  dead,  everywhere  the  Ghetto-gates  were  locked 
again,  and  the  Poem  lay  stacked  on  the  remainder 
shelves.  In  vain  had  the  grateful  Jews  hastened  to 
fight  for  the  Fatherland,  tendered  it  body  and  soul. 
Poor  little  curly-haired  Peloni  had  been  attacked  in 
the  streets  as  an  alien  that  very  morning.     Roysterers 


NOAH'S  ARK  81 

had  raised  the  old  cry  of  "Hep!  Hep!"  —  fatal, 
immemorial  cry,  ghastly  heritage  of  the  Crusades. 
Century  after  century  that  cry  had  gone  echoing 
through  Europe.  Century  after  century  the  Jews 
thought  they  had  lived  it  down,  bought  it  down,  died 
it  down.  But  no !  it  rose  again,  buoyant,  menacing, 
irresponsible.  Ah,  what  a  fool  he  had  been  to  hope ! 
There  was  no  hope. 

Rarely,  indeed,  since  the  Dark  Ages  had  persecu- 
tion flaunted  itself  so  openly.  Riots  and  massacres 
were  breaking  out  all  over  Germany,  and  in  his  own 
Ghetto  Peloni  had  seen  sights  that  had  turned  his 
patriotism  to  gall,  and  crushed  his  trust  in  the  Chris- 
tian, his  beautiful  bubble-dreams  of  the  Millennium. 
Rothschild  himself,  whose  house  in  the  Judengasse 
with  the  sign  of  the  red  shield  had  been  the  centre 
of  the  attack,  was  well-nigh  unable  to  maintain  his 
position  in  the  town.  And  these  local  successes  in- 
flamed the  Jew-haters  everywhere.  "  Let  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  be  sold  to  the  English,"  recommended 
a  popular  pamphlet  of  the  period,  ''who  could  em- 
ploy them  in  their  Indian  plantations  instead  of  the 
blacks.  The  best  plan  would  be  to  purge  the  land 
entirely  of  this  vermin,  either  by  exterminating  them, 
or,  as  Pharaoh,  and  the  people  of  Meiningen,  VViirz- 
burg,  and  Frankfort  did,  by  driving  them  -from  the 
country." 

"  Oh,  God !  "  thought  Peloni,  as  his  mind  ran  over 
the  long  chain  from  Pharaoh  to  Frankfort.     "  Ever- 


82  NOAH'S  ARK 

more  to  wander,  stoned  and  derided !  Thou  hast  set 
a  mark  on  his  forehead,  but  his  punishment  is  greater 
than  he  can  bear." 

The  dead  lay  all  around  him,  one  upon  another, 
new  red  stones  shouldering  aside  the  gray  stones 
that  told  to  boot  of  the  death  of  the  centuries.  And 
the  pressure  of  all  this  struggle  for  death-room  had 
raised  the  earth  higher  than  the  adjacent  paths.  He 
thought  of  how  these  dead  had  always  come  here ; 
even  in  their  lifetime,  when  the  enemy  raged  out- 
side. Here  they  had  put  the  women  and  children 
and  gone  back  to  the  synagogue  to  pray.  Ah,  the 
cowards !  always  oscillating  betwixt  cemetery  and 
synagogue,  why  did  they  not  live,  why  did  they  not 
tight }  Yes,  but  they  had  fought,  —  fought  for  Ger- 
many, and  this  was  Germany's  reply. 

But  could  they  not  fight  for  themselves  then,  with 
money,  with  the  sinews  of  war,  if  not  with  the  weap- 
ons ;  with  gold,  if  not  with  steel }  could  they  not  join 
financial  forces  all  through  the  world  }  But  no  !  There 
was  no  such  solidarity  as  the  Christians  dreamed. 
And  they  were  too  mixed  up  with  the  European 
world  to  dream  of  self-concentration.  Even  while 
the  Frankfort  Rothschild's  house  was  surrounded 
by  rioters,  the  Paris  Rothschild  was  giving  a  ball 
to  the  elite  of  diplomatic  society. 

No!  the  old  Jews  were  right  —  there  was  only  the 
synagogue  and  the  cemetery. 

But  was  there  even  the  synagogue  .-*     That,  too, 


NOAH'S  ARK  83 

was  dead.  The  living  faith,  the  vivid  realization  of 
Israel's  hope,  which  had  made  the  Dark  Ages  en- 
durable and  even  luminous,  were  only  to  be  found 
now  among  fanatics  whose  blind  ignorance  and  fierce 
clinging  to  the  dead  letter  and  the  obsolete  form 
counterbalanced  the  poetry  and  sublimity  of  their 
persistence.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  Peloni  felt,  his 
poems  would  have  been  absorbed  into  the  liturgy. 
For  when  the  liturgy  and  the  religion  were  alive, 
they  took  in  and  gave  out  —  like  all  living  things. 
But  no  —  the  synagogue  of  to-day  was  dead. 

Remained  only  the  cemetery. 

^'  Jude,  verrek  !  "     Jew,  die  like  a  beast. 

Yes,  what  else  was  there  to  do }  For  he  was  not 
even  a  Rothschild,  he  told  himself  with  whimsical 
anguish ;  only  a  poor  poet,  unread,  unknown,  un- 
healthy ;  a  shadow  that  only  found  substance  to 
suffer  ;  a  set  of  heart-strings  across  which  every  wind 
that  blew  made  a  poignant,  passionate  music ;  a 
lamentation  incarnate,  a  voice  of  weeping  in  the 
wilderness,  a  bubble  blown  of  tears,  a  dream,  a  mist, 
a  nobody,  —  in  short,  Peloni ! 

The  dead  generations  drew  him.  He  fell,  weep- 
ing passionately,  upon  a  tomb. 

II 

There  seemed  an  unwonted  stir  in  the  Judengasse 
when  Peloni  returned  to  it.     Was  there  another  riot 


84  NOAH'S  ARK 

threatening  ?  he  thought,  as  he  passed  along  the  nar- 
row street  of  three-storied  frame  houses,  most  of 
them  gabled,  and  all  marked  by  peculiar  signs  and 
figures  —  the  Bear  or  the  Lion  or  the  Garlic  or  the 
Red  Shield  {Rothschild) ! 

Outside  the  synagogue  loitered  a  crowd,  and  as  he 
drew  near  he  perceived  that  there  was  a  long  Procla- 
mation in  a  couple  of  folio  sheets  nailed  on  the  door. 
It  was  doubtless  this  which  was  being  discussed  by 
the  little  groups  he  had  already  noted.  About  the 
synagogue  door  the  throng  was  so  thick  that  he 
could  not  get  near  enough  to  read  it  himself.  But 
fortunately  some  one  was  engaged  in  reading  it  aloud 
for  the  benefit  of  those  on  the  outskirts. 

"  *  Wherefore  I,  Mordecai  Manuel  Noah,  Citizen  of 
the  United  States  of  America,  late  Consul  of  said 
States  to  the  City  and  Kingdom  of  Tunis,  High 
Sheriff  of  New  York,  Counsellor-at-Law,  and  by  the 
Grace  of  God  Governor  and  Judge  of  Israel,  have 
issued  this  my  proclamation. '  " 

A  derisive  laugh  from  a  dwarfish  figure  in  the 
crowd  interrupted  the  reading.  *'  Father  Noah  come 
to  Ufe  again  !  "  It  was  the  Possemacher,  or  wed- 
ding-jester, who  was  not  sparing  of  his  wit,  even 
when  not  professionally  engaged. 

"A  foreigner  —  an  American!"  sneered  a  more 
serious  voice.     "  Who  made  him  ruler  in  Israel } " 

*'  That's  what  the  wicked  Israelite  asked  Moses  !  " 
cried  Peloni,  curiously  excited. 


NOAH'S  ARK  86 

"  Nun,  nun  !  Go  on  !  "  cried  others. 

''  *  Announcing  to  the  Jews  throughout  the  world, 
that  an  asylum  is  prepared  and  hereby  offered  to 
them,  where  they  can  enjoy  that  Peace,  Comfort,  and 
Happiness  which  have  been  denied  them  through 
the  intolerance  and  misgovernment  of  former  ages. 
An  asylum  in  a  free  and  powerful  country,  where 
ample  protection  is  secured  to  their  persons,  their 
property,  and  religious  rights ;  an  asylum  in  a  coun- 
try remarkable  for  its  vast  resources,  the  richness  of 
its  soil,  and  the  salubrity  of  its  climate ;  where  indus- 
try is  encouraged,  education  promoted,  and  good 
faith  rewarded.  '*  A  land  of  Milk  and  Honey,"  where 
Israel  may  repose  in  Peace,  under  his  "  Vine  and  Fig 
tree,"  and  where  our  People  may  so  familiarize  them- 
selves with  the  science  of  government  and  the  lights 
of  learning  and  civilization,  as  may  qualify  them  for 
that  great  and  final  Restoration  to  their  ancient  heri- 
tage, w^hich  the  times  so  powerfully  indicate.'  " 

The  crowd  had  grown  attentive.  Peloni's  face 
was  pale  as  death.  What  was  this  great  thing,  fallen 
so  unexpectedly  from  the  impassive  heaven  his  hope- 
lessness had  challenged } 

But  the  Possemacher  captured  the  moment. 
*'  Father  Noah's  drunk  again  !  " 

A  great  laugh  shook  the  crowd.  But  Peloni  dug 
his  nails  into  his  palms.  "  Read  on !  Read  on !  " 
he  cried  hoarsely. 

*' '  The  Place  of   Refuge  is  in  the  State  of   New 


86  NOAH'S  ARK 

York,  the  largest  in  the  American  Union,  and  the 
spot  to  which  I  invite  my  beloved  People  from  the 
whole  world  is  called  Grand  Island.'  " 

Peloni  drew  a  deep  breath.  His  face  had  now 
changed  to  the  other  extreme  and  was  flushed  with 
excitement. 

"  Noah's  Ark ! "  shot  the  Possemacher  dryly,  and 
had  his  audience  swaying  hysterically. 

"  For  God's  sake,  brethren  !  "  cried  Peloni.  *'  This 
is  no  joke.  Have  you  forgotten  already  that  here 
we  are  only  animals  }  " 

"And  they  went  in  two  by  two,"  said  the  Posse- 
macher^ "  the  clean  beasts,  and  the  unclean  beasts  !  " 

"  Hush,  hush,  let  us  hear  ! "  from  some  of  the 
crowd. 

"'Here  I  am  resolved  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a 
State,  named  Ararat.' " 

"  Ah  !  what  did  I  say  }  "  the  exultant  Possemacher 
shrieked  at  Peloni. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  crowd.  "Noah's 
Ark  resting  on  Ararat !  "     The  dullest  saw  that. 

Peloni  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment. 

"  But  why  should  not  the  place  of  Israel's  Ark  of 
Refuge  be  named  Ararat .-'"  he  asked  of  his  neigh- 
bours. 

"  If  only  his  name  wasn't  Noah  !  "  they  answered. 

"That  makes  it  even  more  appropriate,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

But  "  Noah's  Ark  "  was  the  nickname  that  kills. 


NOAH'S  ARK  87 

Though  the  reader  continued,  it  was  only  to  an  audi- 
ence exhilarated  by  a  sense  of  Arabian  Nights  fan- 
tasy. But  the  elaborate  description  of  the  grandeurs 
of  this  Grand  Island,  and  the  eloquent  passages 
about  the  Century  of  Right,  and  the  ancient  Oracles, 
restored  Peloni's  enthusiasm  to  fever  heat. 

"  It  is  too  long,"  said  the  reader,  wearying  at  last. 

Peloni  rushed  forward  and  took  up  the  task.  The 
first  sentence  exalted  him  still  further. 

" '  In  God's  name  I  revive,  renew,  and  reestablish 
the  government  of  the  Jewish  Nation,  under  the 
auspices  and  protection  of  the  Constitution  and  the 
Laws  of  the  United  States,  confirming  and  perpetu- 
ating all  our  Rights  and  Privileges,  our  Name,  our 
Rank,  and  our  Power  among  the  nations  of  the 
Earth,  as  they  existed  and  were  recognized  under  the 
government  of  the  Judges  of  Israel.' "  Peloni's 
voice  shook  with  fervour.  As  he  began  the  next  sen- 
tence, '* '  It  is  my  will,'  "  he  stretched  out  his  hand 
with  an  involuntary  regal  gesture.  The  spirit  of 
Noah  was  entering  into  him,  and  he  felt  almost  as  if 
it  was  he  who  was  re-creating  the  Jewish  nation  — 
" '  It  is  my  will  that  a  Census  of  the  Jews  throughout 
the  world  be  taken,  that  those  who  are  well  treated 
and  wish  to  remain  in  their  respective  countries  shall 
aid  those  who  wish  to  go ;  that  those  who  are  in  mili- 
tary service  shall  until  further  orders  remain  true 
and  loyal  to  their  rulers. 

''  *  I  command  '  "  —  Peloni  read  the  words  with  ex- 


88  NOAH'S  ARK 

pansive  magnificence,  his  poet's  soul  vibrating  to 
that  other  royal  dreamer's  across  the  great  Atlantic 
— "  *  that  a  strict  Neutrality  be  maintained  in  the 
pending  war  betwixt  Greece  and  Turkey. 

*"  I  abolish  forever'"  —  Peloni's  hand  swept  the 
air,  —  •' '  Polygamy  among  the  Jews.'  " 

"  But  where  have  we  polygamy  .?  "  interrupted  the 
Possemacher. 

" '  As  it  is  still  practised  in  Africa  and  Asia,' " 
read  on  Peloni  severely. 

*'  I'm  off  at  once  for  Africa  and  Asia ! "  cried  the 
marriage-jester,  pretending  to  run.  *'  Good  business 
for  me  there." 

"  You'll  find  better  business  in  America,"  said 
Peloni  scathingly.  "  For  do  not  all  our  Austrian 
young  men  fly  thither  to  marry,  seeing  that  at  home 
only  the  eldest  son  may  found  a  family }  A  pretty 
fatherland  indeed  to  be  a  citizen  of  —  a  step-father- 
land. Listen,  on  the  contrary,  to  the  noble  tolerance 
of  the  Jew.     *  Christians  are  freely  invited.'  " 

"  Ah  !  Do  you  know  who'll  go  .?  "  broke  in  a 
narrow-faced  zealot.     "  The  missionaries." 

Peloni  continued  hastily :  ** '  Ararat  is  open,  too, 
to  the  Caraites  and  the  Samaritans.  The  Black 
Jews  of  India  and  Africa  sKall  be  welcome ;  our 
brethren  in  Cochin-China  and  the  sect  on  the  coast 
of  Malabar  ;  all  are  welcome.'  " 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  a  burly  Jew.  ''  So  we're 
to  live  with  the  blacks.     Enough  of  this  joke  !  " 


NOAH'S  ARK  89 

But  Peloni  went  on  solemnly  :  "  '  A  Capitation- 
tax  on  every  Jew  of  Three  Silver  Shekels  per 
annum  — '  " 

"Ah,  now  we  have  got  to  it!"  and  a  great  roar 
broke  from  the  crowd.  ''  Not  a  bad  Geschdft,  eh  ?  " 
and  they  winked.     ''  He  is  no  fool,  this  Noah." 

Peloni's  blood  boiled.  ''  Do  you  believe  everybody 
is  like  yourselves  t  "  he  cried.     "  Listen  !  " 

" '  I  do  appoint  the  first  day  of  next  Adar  for  a 
Thanksgiving  Day  to  the  God  of  Israel,  for  His 
divine  protection  and  the  fulfilment  of  His  promises, 
to  the  House  of  Israel.  I  recommend  Peace  and 
Union  among  ourselves.  Charity  and  Good-will  to  all, 
Toleration  and  Liberality  toward  our  Brethren  of  all 
Religions  — '  " 

''  Didn't  I  say  a  missionary  in  disguise } "  mur- 
mured the  zealot. 

Peloni  ended,  with  tremulous  emotion  :  "  '  I  humbly 
entreat  to  be  remembered  in  your  prayers,  and  ear- 
nestly do  I  enjoin  you  to  "keep  the  charge  of  the 
Holy  God,"  to  walk  in  His  ways,  to  keep  His 
Statutes  and  His  commandments  and  His  judg- 
ments and  Testimonies,  as  written  in  the  Laws  of 
Moses;  "that  thou  mayest  prosper  in  all  thou  doest 
and  whithersoever  thou  turnest  thyself." 

"  '  Given  under  our  hand  and  seal  in  the  State,  of 
New  York,  on  the  2d  of  Ab  5586  in  the  Fiftieth 
Year  of  American  Independence.'  " 


90  NOAH'S  ARK 

Peloni's  efforts  to  organize  a  company  of  pilgrims 
to  the  New  Jerusalem  brought  him  only  heart-ache. 
The  very  rabbi  who  had  good-naturedly  consented  to 
circulate  the  fantastic  foreigner's  invitation,  tapped 
his  forehead  significantly  :  ''  A  visionary  !  of  good 
intentions,  doubtless,  but  still  —  a  visionary.  Be- 
sides, according  to  our  dogmas,  God  alone  knows 
the  epoch  of  the  Israelitish  restoration  ;  He  alone 
will  make  it  known  to  the  whole  universe,  by  signs 
entirely  unequivocal ;  and  every  attempt  on  our  part 
to  reassemble  with  any  political,  national  design,  is 
forbidden  as  an  act  of  high  treason  against  the 
Divine  Majesty.  Mr.  Noah  has  doubtless  forgotten 
that  the  Israelites,  faithful  to  the  principles  of  their 
belief,  are  too  much  attached  to  the  countries  where 
they  dwell,  and  devoted  to  the  governments  under 
which  they  enjoy  liberty  and  protection,  not  to  treat 
as  a  mere  jest  the  chimerical  consulate  of  a  pseudo- 
restorer." 

"  Noah's  a  madman,  and  you're  an  infant,"  Peloni's 
friends  told  him. 

"  Since  the  destruction  of  the  Temple,"  he  quoted 
in  retort,  "  the  gift  of  prophecy  has  been  confined  to 
children  and  fools." 

*'  You  are  giving  up  a  decent  livelihood,"  they 
warned  him.  ''You  are  throwing  it  into  the 
Atlantic." 

" '  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters  and  it  shall 
return  to  thee  after  many  days.'  " 


NOAH'S  AEK  91 

"  But  in  the  meantime  ?  " 

"  '  Man  doth  not  live  by  bread  alone.'  " 

"  As  you  please.  But  don't  ask  us  to  throw  up 
our  comfortable  home  here." 

''Comfortable  home!"  and  Peloni  grew  almost 
apoplectic  as  he  reminded   them   of  their  miseries. 

"  Persecution  t  "  They  shrugged  their  shoulders. 
"  It  comes  only  now  and  again,  like  a  snow-storm, 
and  we  crawl  through  it." 

''That's  just  it  —  the  lack  of  manliness  —  the 
poisoned  atmosphere !  " 

"  Bah  !  The  Goyim  refuse  us  equal  rights  becaus«. 
they  know  we're  their  superiors.  Let  us  not  jump 
from  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire." 

So  Peloni  sailed  for  New  York  alone. 


Ill 


He  was  rather  disappointed  to  find  no  other  pil- 
grim even  on  the  ship.  True,  there  was  one  Jew, 
but  the  business  Paradise  of  New  York  was  his  goal 
across  this  waste  of  waters,  and  of  Noah's  Ark  he 
had  never  heard.  Peloni's  panegyric  of  Grand 
Island  was  rendered  ineffective  by  his  own  nebu- 
lous conception  of  its  commercial  possibilities.  He 
passed  the  slow  days  in  the  sailing-vessel  polishing 
up  his  Enghsh,  the  literature  of  which  he  had  long 
studied. 

In    New   York    Peloni's    hopes    revived.       Major 


92  NOAH'S  ARK 

Noah  —  for  it  appeared  he  was  an  officer  of  mihtia 
Hkewise  —  was  in  everybody's  mouth.  Editor  of 
the  National  Advocate,  the  leading  organ  of  the 
Bucktails,  or  Tammany  party,  a  journaHst  whose 
clever  sallies  and  humorous  paragraphs  were  widely 
enjoyed,  an  author  of  excellent  "Travels,"  a  play- 
wright of  the  first  distinction,  whose  patriotic  dramas 
were  always  given  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  a  critic 
regarded  as  Sir  Oracle,  a  politician,  lawyer,  and  man 
of  the  world,  a  wit,  the  gay  centre  of  every  gather- 
ing—  surely  in  this  lion  of  New  York,  who  was  also 
the  Lion  of  David,  Israel  had  at  last  found  a  de- 
liverer. They  called  him  madman  down  in  Frank- 
fort, did  they }     Well,  let  them  come  here  and  see. 

He  wrote  home  to  the  scoffers  of  the  Judengasse 
all  the  information  about  the  great  man  that  was  in 
the  very  air  of  the  American  city,  though  the  man 
himself  he  had  only  as  yet  corresponded  with.  He 
told  the  famous  story  of  how  when  Noah  was  can- 
vassing for  the  office  of  High  Sheriff  of  New  York, 
it  was  urged  that  no  Jew  should  be  put  into  an  office 
where  he  might  have  to  hang  a  Christian,  to  which 
Noah  had  retorted  wittily,  "  Pretty  Christian,  to 
have  to  be  hanged ! "  **  And  you  all  fancied 
'  Father  Noah '  would  fall  to  pieces  before  the 
Posscmacher's  wit !  "  Peloni  commented  with  venge- 
ful satisfaction.  '"I  rejoice  to  say  that  Noah  will 
never  ha\e  anything  to  do  with  a  Possemacher,  for 
he  is  President  of  the  Old  Bachelors'  Club,  the  mem- 


NOAH'S  ARK  9g 

bers  of  which  are  pledged  never  to  marry."  He  told 
of  Noah's  adventurous  career :  of  how  when  he  was 
a  mere  boy  clerk  in  the  auditor's  office  of  his  native 
Philadelphia,  Congress  had  voted  him  a  hundred 
dollars  for  his  precocious  preparation  of  the  actuary 
tables  for  the  eight-per-cent  loan ;  of  the  three  duels 
at  Charleston,  in  which  he  had  vindicated  at  once 
the  courage  of  the  Jew  and  the  policy  of  American 
resistance  to  Great  Britain;  of  his  consulate  in  Tunis, 
his  capture  at  sea  by  the  British  fleet  during  the  war, 
his  release  on  parole  that  enabled  him  to  travel  about 
England;  of  his  genius  for  letters  —  a  very  David  in 
Israel ;  of  his  generosity  to  hundreds  of  strugglers  ; 
of  his  quixotic  disdain  of  money ;  of  his  impoverish- 
ing himself  by  paying  two  hundred  thousand  dollars 
of  other  people's  debts  as  the  price  of  his  impulsive 
shrieval  action  in  throwing  open  the  doors  of  the 
Debtor's  Jail  when  the  yellow  fever  broke  out  within. 
"  Yes,"  wrote  Peloni  exultantly,  "  in  New  York  they 
talk  no  more  of  Shylock.  And  with  all  the  tempta- 
tions to  Christian  fellowship  or  Pagan  free-living,  a 
pillar  of  the  synagogue, — nay,  Israel's  one  hope  in 
all  the  world  !  " 

It  was  a  wonderful  moment  when  Peloni,  at  last 
invited  to  call  on  the  Judge  of  Israel,  palpitated  on 
the  threshold  of  his  study  and  gazed  blinkingly  at 
the  great  man  enthroned  before  his  writing-table 
amid  elegant  vistas  of  books  and  paintings.  What 
a  noble    poetic    vision  it  seemed  to  him  :  the  broad 


94  NOAH'S  ARK 

brow,  with  the  tumbled  hair;  the  long,  delicate-fea- 
tured face  tapering  to  a  narrow  chin  environed  with 
whiskers,  but  clean  of  beard  or  even  of  mustache, 
so  that  the  mobile,  sensitive  mouth  was  laid  bare. 
Peloni's  glance  also  took  in  a  handsome  black  coat, 
with  a  decoration  on  the  lapel,  a  high-peaked  collar, 
a  black  puffy  bow,  a  frilled  shirt,  and  a  very  broad 
jewelled  cuff  over  a  white,  long-fingered  hand,  that 
held  a  tall  quill  with  a  great  breadth  of  feather. 

"  Ah,  come  in,"  said  the  Governor  of  Israel,  wav- 
ing his  quill.     "  You  are  Peloni  of  Frankfort." 

"Come  three  thousand  miles  to  kiss  the  hem  of 
your  garment." 

Noah  permitted  the  attention.  "  I  am  obHged  to 
you  for  your  Hebrew  poem  in  honour  of  my  project," 
he  said  urbanely.  "  I  approve  of  Hebrew  —  it  is  a 
link  that  binds  us  to  our  forefathers.  I  am  myself 
editing  a  translation  of  the  Book  of  Jasher." 

"  You  will  have  found  my  verses  a  very  poor  ex- 
pression of  your  divine  ideas." 

"You  use  a  difficult  Hebrew.  But  the  general 
drift  seemed  to  show  you  had  caught  the  greatness 
of  my  conception." 

"  Ah,  yes !  I  have  lived  in  2.Judengasse^  oppressed 
and  derided." 

"But  there  is  worse  than  oppression  —  there  is 
inward  stagnation  of  the  spiritual  life.  My  idea 
came  to  me  in  Tunis,  where  the  Jews  are  little  op- 
pressed.    You    know  President    Madison   appointed 


NOAH'S  ARK  96 

me  consul  of  the  United  States  for  the  city  and  king- 
dom of  Tunis,  one  of  the  most  respectable  and  inter- 
esting stations  in  the  regencies  of  Barbary.  I  had 
long  desired  to  visit  the  country  of  Dido  and  Hanni- 
bal, to  trace  the  field  of  Zama,  and  seek  out  the  ruins 
of  Utica,  —  whose  sites  I  believe  I  have  now  success- 
fully established,  —  but  it  was  my  main  design  to 
investigate  the  condition  of  the  Barbary  Jews,  of 
whom,  you  will  remember,  we  have  no  account  later 
than  Benjamin  of  Tudela's  in  the  thirteenth  century. 
But  do  not  stand  —  take  a  chair.  Well,  I  found  our 
brethren  —  to  the  number  of  seven  hundred  thousand 
—  controlling  everything  in  Barbary,  farming  the 
revenue,  regulating  the  coinage,  keeping  the  Dey's 
jewels  and  almost  his  person,  —  in  short,  anything 
but  persecuted,  though,  of  course,  the  majority  were 
miserably  poor.  They  did  not  know  I  was  a  Jew  — 
though  Secretary  Monroe  recalled  me  because  I  was, 
and  it  was  Monroe's  doctrine  that  Judaism  would 
be  an  obstacle  to  the  discharge  of  my  functions. 
Absurd  !  The  Catholic  priest  was  allowed  to  sprinkle 
the  Consulate  with  holy  water  :  the  barefooted  Fran- 
ciscan received  an  alms,  nor  did  I  fail  to  acknowledge 
by  a  donation  the  decorated  branch  sent  on  Palm 
Sunday  by  the  Greek  Bishop.  And  as  for  the  slaves, 
I  assure  you  they  were  not  backward  in  coming  to 
ask  favours.  The  only  people  who  never  came  to  me 
were  precisely  the  Jews.  I  went  about  among  them 
incognito,  so  to  speak,  Hke  Haroun  Alraschid  among 


96  NOAH'S  ARK 

his  subjects ;  hence  I  was  able  to  see  all  the  evils 
that  will  never  be  eliminated  till  Israel  is  again  a 
nation." 

"■  Ah  !  your  words  are  the  words  of  wisdom.  You 
touch  the  root  of  the  evil.  It  is  what  I  have  always 
told  them." 

Noah  rose  to  his  feet,  displaying  a  royal  stature  in 
harmony  with  his  broad  shoulders.  "  Yes,  I  resolved 
it  should  be  mine  to  elevate  my  people,  to  make  them 
hold  up  their  heads  worthily  in  this  century  of  free- 
dom and  enlightenment." 

"  It  is  the  Ark  of  the  Convenant,  as  well  as  of  the 
Deluge,  which  will  rest  on  Ararat !  " 

"True  —  and  like  the  first  Noah,  I  may  become 
the  progenitor  of  a  new  world.  I  have  communica- 
tions from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth.  You  are 
the  type  of  thousands  who  will  flee  from  the  rotting 
tyrannies  of  Europe  into  the  great  free  republic 
which  I  shall  direct." 

He  began  to  pace  the  room.  Peloni  had  visions 
of  great  black  lines  of  pilgrims  converging  from 
every  quarter  of  the  compass. 

'*  But  this  Grand  Island  —  is  it  yours.'*"  he  inquired 
timidly. 

'*  I  have  bought  thousands  of  acres  of  it — I  and 
a  few  others  who  believe  in  the  great  future  of  our 
people." 

*'Jews.?" 

"  No,  not  Jews  —  capitalists   who  know   that   we 


NOAH'S  ARK  97 

shall  become  the  commercial  centre  of  the  new  world, 
—  that  is,  of  the  world  of  the  future." 

Peloni  groaned.  "  And  Jews  will  not  believe } 
We  must  go  to  the  Gentiles.  Jews  will  only  put  their 
money  into  Gentile  schemes ;  will  build  always  for 
others,  never  for  themselves.  It  is  the  same  every- 
where.    Alas  for  Israel !  " 

"  It  is  what  I  preach.  Why  administer  Barbary 
for  a  savage  Dey  when  you  can  administer  Grand 
Island  for  yourself  ">.  Seven  hundred  thousand  Jews 
in  savage  Barbary,  and  throughout  these  vast  free 
States  not  seven  thousand.  Ah,  but  they  will  come  ; 
they  will  come.     Ararat  will  gather  its  millions." 

**  But  will  there  be  room  }  " 

"  The  State  of  New  York,"  replied  Noah,  impres- 
sively, "is  the  largest  in  the  Union,  containing  forty- 
three  thousand  two  hundred  and  fourteen  square 
miles  divided  into  fifty-five  counties  and  having  six 
thousand  and  eighty-seven  post-towns  and  cities 
together  with  six  million  acres  of  cultivated  land. 
The  constitution  is  founded  on  equality  of  rights. 
We  recognize  no  religious  differences.  In  our  seven 
thousand  free  schools  and  gymnasia,  four  hundred 
thousand  children  of  every  religion  are  being  edu- 
cated. Here  in  this  great  and  progressive  State  the 
long  wandering  of  my  beloved  people  shall  end." 

"  But  Grand  Island  itself .'' "  murmured  Peloni 
feebly. 

"Come  here,"   and   Noah  unrolled  a  great  map. 


98  NOAIPS  ARK 

"  See,  how  nobly  it  is  situated  in  the  Niagara  River, 
near  the  world-famed  Falls,  which  will  supply  water- 
power  for  our  machinery.  It  is  twelve  miles  long 
and  from  three  to  seven  broad,  and  contains  seven- 
teen thousand  acres.  Lake  Erie  is  two  hundred  and 
seventy  miles  long  and  borders  New  York,  Pennsyl- 
vania, and  Ohio,  as  well  as  Canada.  And  see !  by 
navigable  streams  this  great  lake  is  connected  with 
all  that  wonderful  chain  of  lakes.  By  short  canals 
we  shall  connect  with  the  Illinois  and  Mississippi, 
and  trade  with  New  Orleans  and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
Through  the  Ontario  —  see  here  !  —  we  traffic  with 
Quebec,  Montreal,  and  touch  the  great  Atlantic. 
The  Niagara  Falls,  as  I  said,  turn  our  machinery. 
The  fur  trade,  the  lumber  trade,  all  is  ours.  Our 
cattle  multiply,  our  lands  wave  with  harvests.  We 
are  the  centre  of  the  world,  the  capital  of  the  future. 
And  look !  See  what  the  Albany  Gazette  says : 
'  Here  the  Hebrews  can  have  their  Jerusalem  without 
fearing  the  legions  of  Titus.  Here  they  can  erect 
their  Temple  without  dreading  the  torches  of  frenzied 
soldiers.  Here  they  can  lay  their  heads  on  their 
pillows  at  night  without  fear  of  mobs,  of  bigotry  and 
persecution.' " 

Peloni  drew  a  long  breath,  enraptured  by  this  holy 
El  Dorado,  sparkling  on  the  map,  amid  its  tributary 
lakes  and  rivers. 

"You  will  see  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  Isaiah 
fulfilled."  Noah  went  on.     "  For  what  is  the  *  land 


NOAH'S  ARK  99 

shadowing  with  wings,  which  is  beyond  the  rivers  of 
Ethiopia,'  which  shall  send  messengers  to  a  nation 
scattered  and  peeled  ?  What  but  America,  shadow- 
ing us  with  the  wings  of  its  eagle  ?  As  it  is  written 
elsewhere,  *  I  will  bear  thee  on  eagle's  wings.'  It  is 
true  the  English  Bible  translates  *Woe  to  the  land,' 
but  this  is  a  mistranslation.  It  should  be  '  Hail  to 
the  land!'  Also  the  word  ^ goumey'  they  translate 
'  bulrushes '  —  *  that  sendeth  messengers  in  vessels  of 
bulrushes  ! '  But  does  not ' gonmey  '  also  mean  '  rush, 
impetus  .-* '  And  is  it  not  therefore  a  prophecy  of 
those  new  steam-vessels  that  are  beginning  to  creep 
up,  one  of  which  has  just  crossed  from  England  to 
India }  Erelong  they  will  be  running  between 
America  and  all  the  world.  It  is  the  Lord  making 
ready  for  the  easy  ingathering  of  His  people.  Ay, 
and  along  these  lakes"  —  the  Prophet's  finger  swept 
the  map  — "  will  be  heard  the  panting  of  mighty 
steam-monsters,  all  making  for  Ararat.  By  the  way, 
Ararat  lies  here,"  and  he  indicated  a  spot  of  the 
island  opposite  Tonawanda  on  the  mainland. 

Peloni  bent  down  and  poetically  pressed  his  lips  to 
the  spot,  like  Jehuda  Halevi  kissing  the  holy  soil. 

"  There  is  no  one  in  possession  there  V  he  inquired 
anxiously. 

"  Maybe  a  few  Iroquois  Indians,"  said  Noah. 
''  But  they  will  not  have  to  be  turned  out  Hke  the 
Hittites  and  Amorites  and  Jebusites  by  our  an- 
cestors." 


100  NOAH'S  ARK 

"  No  ?  "  murmured  Peloni, 

"  Of  course  not.  They  are  our  own  brothers, 
carried  away  by  the  King  of  Assyria.  There  can  be 
not  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  Red  Indians  are  the 
Lost  Ten  Tribes  of  Israel." 

*'  What.'^  "  cried  Peloni,  vastly  excited. 

"I  shall  publish  a  book  on  the  subject.  Yes,  in 
worship,  dialect,  language,  sacrifices,  marriages, 
divorces,  burials,  fastings,  purifications,  punishments, 
cities  of  refuge,  divisions  of  tribes,  High-Priests,  wars, 
triumphs  —  'tis  our  very  tradition." 

"  Then  I  suppose  one  could  lodge  with  them.  I 
am  anxious  to  settle  in  Ararat  at  once." 

"•  You  can  scarcely  settle  there  till  the  forest  is 
cleared,"  said  the  great  man,  arching  his  eyebrows. 

''The  forest!"  repeated  Peloni,  taken  aback. 

"  Ah,  you  are  dismayed.  You  are  a  European, 
accustomed  to  ready-made  cities.  We  Americans, 
we  change  continents  while  you  wait,  build  up 
Aladdin's  palaces  over-night.  As  soon  as  I  can 
manage  to  go  over  the  ground  I  will  plan  out  the 
city." 

''You  haven't  been  there  yet.''"  gasped  Peloni. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Peloni.  When  should  I  find  time 
to  travel  all  the  way  to  Buffalo,  —  a  busy  editor, 
lawyer,  playwright,  what  not  t  True,  the  time  that 
other  men  give  to  domestic  happiness  the  President 
of  the  Old  Bachelors'  Club  is  able  to  give  to  his 
fellow-men.     But  the  slow  canal  voyage  —  " 


:     ^(cuij^''^  :^j^£\'^  '^  *'*'*  101 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  a  servant  inquired  if  Major  Noah  could  see  his 
tailor. 

''Ah,  a  good  augury!"  cried  the  major.  ''Here 
is  the  tailor  come  to  try  on  my  Robe  of  Governor 
and  Judge  of  Israel." 

The  man  bore  an  elaborate  robe  of  crimson  s'ilk 
trimmed  with  ermine,  which  he  arranged  about 
Noah's  portly  person,  making  marks  with  pins  and 
chalk  where  it  could  be  made  to  fit  better. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ? "  said  Noah,  puffing  himself  out 
regally. 

Peloni's  uneasiness  vanished.  Doubt  was  impos- 
sible before  these  magnificent  realities.  Ah !  the 
Americans  were  wonderful. 

"  I  had  to  go  through  our  annals,"  Noah  explained, 
*'to  find  which  period  of  our  government  we  could 
revive.  Kingship  was  opposed  to  the  sentiment  of 
these  States :  in  the  epoch  of  the  Judges  I  found  my 
ideal.  Indeed,  what  is  the  President  of  the  United 
States  but  a  Shophet,  a  Judge  of  Israel .''  Ah,  you 
are  looking  at  that  painting  of  me  —  I  shall  have  to 
be  done  again  in  my  new  robes.  That  elegant  crea- 
ture who  hangs  beside  me  is  Miss  Leesugg,  the  Hebe 
of  English  actresses,  as  she  appeared  in  my  '  She 
would  be  a  Soldier,  or  the  Plains  of  Chippewa.* 
There  is  a  caricature  of  my  uncle,  Aaron  J.  Phillips, 
as  the  Turkish  Commander  in  my  *  Grecian  Captive.' 
Dear  me,  shall  I  ever  forget  how  he  tumbled  off  that 


102  '  ~' ""  1 1"'  \  ]>Tfb4'ff  ti  AfiiC'^  ' ' ': 

elephant !  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  That  is  Miss  Johnson,  in 
my  *Yusef  Carmatti,  or  the  Siege  of  TripoH.'  The 
black  and  white  is  a  fancy  sketch  of  '  Marion,  or  the 
Hero  of  Lake  George,'  a  play  I  wrote  for  the 
reopening  of  the  Park  Theatre  and  to  celebrate 
the    evacuation    of    New    York    by    the    British    in 

1783." 

"  Ah,  I  was  there.  Major,"  said  the  tailor.  "  It 
was  bully.  But  the  house  was  so  full  of  generals 
and  colonels  you  could  hardly  hear  a  word." 

*'  Fortunately  for  me,"  laughed  Noah.  "  Yes,  I 
asked  them  to  come  in  full  uniform  for  the  /clat 
of  the  occasion.  Which  reminds  me  —  here  is  a 
ticket  for  you." 

"  For  the  play  ? "  murmured  Peloni,  as  he  took  it. 

Noah  started  and  looked  at  him  keenly.  But  his 
flush  of  anger  faded  before  Peloni' s  innocent  eyes. 
"  No,  no,"  he  explained  ;  ''for  the  opening  ceremony 
of  the  foundation  of  Ararat." 

Peloni's  black  eyes  shone. 

"  There  will  be  a  great  crush  and  only  ticket- 
holders  can  be  admitted  into  the  church." 

"  Into  the  church !  "  echoed  Peloni,  paling. 

''Yes,"  said  the  Judge  of  Israel  impressively,  as  he 
stood  before  a  glass  to  adjust  the  graceful  folds  of 
his  crimson  robe.  "  Our  fellow-citizens  in  Buffalo 
have  been  good  enough  to  lend  us  the  Episcopal 
Church  for  the  ceremony." 

"What  ceremony.''"  he  faltered,  as  horrid  images 


NOAH'S  ARK  103 

swept  before  him,  and  he  heard  all  the  way  from 
Frankfort  the  taunting  cry  of  *'  Missionary  !  " 

''The  laying  of  the  foundation-stone  of  Ararat." 

"  Laying  the  foundation-stone  in  a  church  !  "  Peloni 
was  puzzled. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Major,  misunderstanding  him  ;  *'it 
seems  strange  to  you,  nursed  in  the  musty  lap  of 
Europe.  But  here  in  this  land  of  freedom  and  this 
century  of  enlightenment  all  men  are  brothers." 

"  But  surely  the  foundation-stone  should  be  laid 
on  Grand  Island." 

"  It  would  have  been  desirable.  But  so  many  will 
wish  to  be  present  at  this  great  celebration.  Buffalo 
alone  has  some  thirteen  hundred  inhabitants.  How 
should  we  get  them  across  }  There  are  scarcely  any 
boats  to  be  had  —  and  Ararat  is  twelve  miles  away. 
No,  no,  it  is  better  to  hold  our  ceremony  in  Buffalo. 
It  is,  after  all,  only  a  symbolism.  The  corner-stone 
is  already  being  inscribed  in  Hebrew  and  English. 
'  Hear,  O  Israel,  the  Lord  is  our  God.  Ararat,  a 
City  of  Refuge  for  the  Jews,  founded  by  Mordecai 
M.  Noah  in  the  month  Tishri,  corresponding  with 
September,  1825,  in  the  fiftieth  year  of  American 
Independence.'  " 

The  sonorous  recitation  by  the  Shophet  in  his 
crimson  and  ermine  robe  somewhat  restored  Peloni's 
equanimity. 

"  But  when  will  the  actual  city  be  begun .? "  he 
asked. 


104  NOAH'S  ARK 

The  Shophet  waved  his  hand  airily.  "A  matter 
of  days." 

"  But  are  you  sure  we  can  build  there  }  " 

"Look  at  the  map.  Here  is  Grand  Island  — 
ours !  Here  is  the  site  of  Ararat.  It  is  all  as  plain 
as  a  pikestaff.  And,  talking  of  pikestaffs,  it  would 
not  be  a  bad  idea  to  plant  a  staff  on  Ararat  with  the 
flag  of  Israel." 

Peloni  took  fire :  ''  Yes,  yes,  let  me  go  and  plant 
it.      I'll  journey  night  and  day." 

"  You  shall  plant  it,"  said  the  Shophet  graciously. 
"  Yes,  I'll  have  the  flag  made  at  once.  The  property 
man  at  the  Park  Theatre  will  attend  to  it  for  me. 
The  Lion  of  Judah  and  seven  stars." 

**  It  shall  be  waving  on  Grand  Island  before  you 
open  the  celebration  in  Buffalo." 

Peloni  went  out  like  a  lion,  his  head  in  the  seven 
stars.  Could  it  be  possible  that  to  him — Peloni  — 
had  fallen  the  privilege  of  proclaiming  the  New 
Jerusalem  ! 

IV 

After  the  bustle  of  New  York,  the  scattered  village 
of  Buffalo  was  restful  but  somewhat  chilHng  to  the 
Ghetto-bred  poet,  with  his  quick  brain,  unaccustomed 
to  the  slow  processes  of  nature.  Buffalo — with  its 
muddy,  unpaved  streets,  and  great  trees,  up  which 
squirrel  and  chipmunk  ran  —  was  still  half  in  and 
half  out  of  mother  earth ;  man's  artifice  ruled  in  the 


NOAH'S  ARK  105 

high  street  with  its  stores  and  inns,  some  of  which 
were  even  of  brick ;  but  in  the  byways  every  now 
and  then  a  primitive  log  cabin  broke  the  Hne  of 
frame  cottages,  and  in  the  outskirts  cows  and  pigs 
walked  about  unconcernedly.  It  was  a  reminder  of 
all  that  would  have  to  be  done  in  Ararat  ere  a 
Temple  could  shine,  like  a  lighthouse  of  righteous- 
ness to  the  tossing  nations.  But  when  Peloni  learned 
that  it  was  only  twelve  years  since  the  scarcely 
born  village  had  been  burnt  down  by  the  British 
and  Indians  in  the  war,  he  felt  reencouraged,  warm- 
ing himself  at  the  flame,  so  to  speak.  And  when  he 
found  that  the  citizens  were  all  agog  about  Ararat 
and  the  church  celebration  —  that  it  divided  interest 
with  the  Erie  Canal,  the  hanging  of  the  three 
Thayers,  and  the  recent  reception  of  General  Lafay- 
ette at  the  Eagle  Tavern  —  his  heart  expanded  in  a 
new  poem. 

It  was  indeed  an  auspicious  moment  for  Noah's 
scheme.  All  eyes  were  turned  on  the  coming  cele- 
bration of  the  opening  of  the  great  canal,  to  be  the 
terminus  of  which  Buffalo  had  fought  victoriously 
against  Black  Rock.  Golden  visions  of  the  future 
gleamed  almost  tangibly ;  and  amid  the  general 
magnificence  Noah's  ornate  dream  took  on  equal 
solidity.  Endless  capital  would  be  directed  into  the 
neighbourhood  of  Buffalo  —  for  Ararat  was  only 
twelve  miles  away.  Besides,  all  the  great  men  of 
Buffalo  —  and  there  were  many  —  had  been  honoured 


106  NOAH'S  ARK 

with  elaborate  cards  of  invitation  to  the  grand  cere- 
mony of  the  foundation-stone.  A  few  old  Baptist 
farmers  were  surly  about  the  threatened  vast  Jewish 
immigration,  but  the  majority  proclaimed  with  right- 
eous warmth  that  the  glorious  American  Constitution 
welcomed  all  creeds,  and  that  there  was  money  in  it. 

Peloni  looked  about  for  a  Jew  to  guide  him,  but 
could  find  none.  Finally  a  Seneca  Indian  from  the 
camp  just  below  Buffalo  undertook  to  look  for  the 
spot.  It  was  with  a  strange  thrill  that  Peloni's  eyes 
rested  for  the  first  time  on  a  red  Indian.  Was  this 
indeed  a  long-lost  brother  of  his.-^  He  cried  "Shalom 
Aleikhem "  in  Hebrew,  but  the  Indian,  despite 
Noah's  theories,  did  not  seem  to  understand.  Ulti- 
mately the  dialogue  was  carried  on  in  the  few 
words  of  broken  English  which  the  Indian  had 
picked  up  from  the  trappers,  and  in  the  gesture- 
language,  in  which,  with,  his  genius  for  all  lan- 
guages, Peloni  was  soon  at  home.  And  in  truth 
he  did  find  at  heart  some  subtle  sympathy  with  this 
copper-coloured  savage  which  was  not  called  out  by 
the  busy  citizens  of  Buffalo.  On  a  sunlit  morning, 
bearing  his  flagstaff  with  the  flag  wrapped  round 
it,  a  blanket,  and  a  little  store  of  provisions  for 
camping  'out  over-night,  Peloni  sHpped  into  the 
birch  canoe  and  the  Indian  paddled  off.  For  mjles 
they  glided  in  silence  along  the  sparkling  Niagara, 
lone  denizens  of  a  lonely  world. 

Suddenly    Peloni    thought   of    the  Judengasse   of 


NOAH'S  ARK  107 

Frankfort,  and  for  a  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  must  be  dreaming.  What!  a  few  short  months 
ago  he  was  selling  prayer-books  and  phylacteries 
in  the  shadow  of  the  old  high-gabled  houses,  and 
now,  in  a  virgin  district  of  the  New  World,  in 
company  with  a  half-naked  red  Indian,  he  was 
going  to  plant  the  flag  of  Judah  on  an  island 
forest  and  to  found  the  New  Jerusalem.  What 
would  they  say,  his  old  friends,  if  they  could  see 
him  now.?  And  he  —  the  Possemacher — what 
winged  jest  would  he  let  fly  t  A  perception  of  the 
monstrous  fantasy  of  the  thing  stole  on  poor  Peloni. 
Was  he,  perhaps,  dreaming  after  all }  No,  there 
was  the  Niagara  River,  the  village  of  Black  Rock  on 
his  right  hand,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  gorge 
the  lively  Fort  Erie  and  the  poplar-fringed  Cana- 
dian shore,  and  there  too  —  on  the  map  Noah  had 
given  him  —  Ararat  lay  waiting. 

The  Indian  paddled  imperturbably,  throwing  back 
the  sparkling  water  with  a  soft,  soothing  sound. 
Peloni  lapsed  into  more  pleasurable  reflections. 
How  beautiful  was  this  great  free  place  of  sun  and 
wind,  of  water  and  forest,  after  the  noisome  Jew- 
street  !  He  was  not  dreaming,  nor —  thank  God  !  — 
was  Noah.  Strange,  indeed,  that  thus  should  de- 
liverance for  Israel  be  wrought ;  yet  what  was 
Israel's  history  but  a  series  of  miracles }  And  his 
—  Peloni's  —  humble  hand  was  to  plant  the  flag  that 
had  lain  folded  and  inglorious  these  twenty  centuries ! 


108  NOAH'S  AKK 

They  glided  by  a  couple  of  little  islands,  duly 
marked  on  the  map,  and  then  a  great,  wooded, 
dark  purple  mass  rose  to  meet  them  with  a  band 
of  deep  orange  on  the  low  coast-line. 

It  was  Grand  Island. 

Peloni  whispered  a  prayer. 

Obeying  the  map  marked  by  Noah,  the  canoe 
glided  round  the  island,  keeping  to  the  American 
side.  As  they  shot  past  a  third  little  island,  a  dull 
booming  began  to  be  audible. 

"What  is  that.''"  Peloni's  face  inquired. 

The  Indian  smiled.  "  Not  go  many  miles  farther," 
he  indicated.  "  The  Rapids  soon.  Then  —  whizz  ! 
Then  big  jump !     Niagara.     Dead." 

Fortunately  Ararat  was  due  much  sooner  than 
Niagara.  As  they  drew  near  the  fourth  of  the 
little  islands,  which  lay  betwixt  Grand  Island  and 
the  mainland  of  the  States,  and  saw  the  Tona- 
wanda  Creek  emptying  itself  into  the  river,  Peloni 
signed  to  the  Indian  to  land ;  for  it  was  here  that 
Ararat  was  to  arise. 

The  landing  was  easy,  the  river  here  being  shal- 
low arid  the  bank  low.  The  beauty  of  the  spot, 
as  it  lay  wild  and  fresh  from  God's  hand  in  the 
golden  sunlight,  moved  Peloni  to  tears.  The  In- 
dian, who  seemed  curious  as  to  his  movements  and 
willing  to  share  his  mid-day  meal,  tied  his  canoe 
to  a  basswood  tree  and  followed  the  standard- 
bearer.     There  was  a  glorious  medley  of  leafy  life  — 


NOAH'S  ARK  109 

elm,  oak,  maple,  linden,  pine,  wild  cherry,  wild 
plum  —  which  Peloni  could  only  rejoice  in  without 
differentiating  it  by  names ;  and  as  the  oddly  as- 
sorted couple  walked  through  the  sun-dappled 
glades  they  startled  a  world  of  scurrying  animal 
life  —  snipe  and  plover  and  partridges  and  singing- 
birds,  squirrels  and  rabbits  and  even  deer,  that 
frisked  and  fluttered  unprescient  of  the  New  Jeru- 
salem that  menaced  their  immemorial  inheritance. 
The  joy  of  city-building  had  begun  at  last  to  dawn 
on  Peloni,  the  immense  pleasure  to  the  human  will 
of  beginning  afresh,  of  shaking  off  the  pressure  of 
the  ages,  of  inscribing  free  ideas  on  the  plastic 
universe.  As  he  wandered  at  random  in  search  of 
a  suitable  spot  on  which  to  plant  the  flagstaff,  the 
romance  of  this  great  American  world  thrilled  him, 
of  this  vast  continent  won  acre  by  acre  from  nature 
and  the  savage,  covering  itself  with  splendid  cities ; 
a  retrospective  sympathy  with  the  citizens  of  Buf- 
falo and  their  coming  canal  warmed  his  breast. 

Of  a  sudden  he  heard  a  screaming,  and  looking 
up  he  observed  two  strange,  huge  birds  upon  a 
blasted  pine. 

"  Eagles,"  said  the  laconic  Indian. 

"  Eagles !  "  And  Peloni's  heart  leaped  with  a 
remembrance  of  Noah's  words.  "  Here  under  their 
wings  shall  our  flag  be  unfurled.  And  that  blasted 
tree  is  Israel,  that  shall  flourish  again." 

He  dug  the  pole  into  the  earth.     A  breeze  caught 


110  NOAH'S  ARK 

the  flag,  and  the  folds  flew  out,  and  the  Lion  of 
Judah  and  the  seven  stars  flapped  in  the  face  of  an 
inattentive  universe.  Peloni  intoned  the  Hebrew  bene- 
diction, closing  his  eyes  in  pious  ecstasy.  "  Blessed 
art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  who  hast  kept  us  alive, 
and  preserved  us,  and  enabled  us  to  reach  this  day !  " 

As  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  perceived  in  the  distance 
high  in  air,  rising  far  above  the  Island,  a  great  mist 
of  shining  spray,  amid  which  rainbows  netted  and 
tangled  themselves  in  ineffable  dream-like  loveliness. 
At  the  same  instant  his  ear  caught  —  over  the  boom 
of  the  rapids  —  the  first  hint  of  another,  a  mightier, 
a  more  majestic  roar. 

"  Niagara,"  murmured  the  Indian. 

But  Peloni's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  celestial  vision. 

"  The  Shechinah  !  "  he  whispered.  "  The  divine 
presence  that  rested  on  the  Tabernacle,  and  on  Solo- 
mon's Temple,  and  that  has  returned  at  last  —  to 
Ararat." 

V 

The  booming  of  cannon  from  the  Court  House,  and 
from  the  Terrace  facing  the  lake,  saluted  the  bright 
September  dawn  and  reminded  the  citizens  of  Buffalo 
that  the  Messianic  day  was  here.  But  they  needed 
no  reminding.  The  great  folk  had  laid  out  their  best 
clothes ;  military  insignia  and  Masonic  regalia  had 
been  furbished  up.  Troops  guarded  St.  Paul's 
Church  and  kept  off  the  swarming  crowd. 


NOAH'S  ARK  111 

The  first  act  of  the  great  historic  drama  —  "  Mor- 
decai  Manuel  Noah;  or,  The  Redemption  of  Israel" 
—  passed  off  triumphantly,  to  the  music  of  patriotic 
American  airs.  The  procession,  which  marched  at 
eleven  from  the  Lodge  through  the  chief  streets,  did 
honour  to  this  marshaller  of  stage  pageants. 


ORDER   OF   PROCESSION 

Grand  Marshal,  Col.  Potter,  on  horseback. 

Music. 

Military. 

Citizens. 

Civil  Officers. 

State  Officers  in  Uniform. 

President  and  Trustees  of  the  Corporation. 

Tyler. 

Stewards. 

Entered  Apprentices. 

Fellow  Crafts. 

Master  Masons. 

Senior  and  Junior  Deacons. 

Secretary  and  Treasurer. 

Senior  and  Junior  Wardens. 

Master  of  Lodges. 

Past  Masters. 

Rev.  Clergy. 

Stewards,  with  corn,  wine,  and  oil. 

Principal  Architect, 

Globe  with  square,  level,  Globe 

and  plumb. 

Bible. 

Square  and  Compass,  borne  by  a  Master  Mason. 

The  Judge  of  Israel 

In  black,  wearing  the  judicial  robes  of  crimson  silk,  trimmed 

with  ermine,  and  a  richly  embossed  golden 

medal  suspended  from  the  neck. 

A  Master  Mason. 

Royal  Arch  Masons. 

Knights  Templars. 


112  NOAH'S  ARK 

At  the  church  door  there  was  a  halt.  The  troops 
parted  to  right  and  left,  the  pageant  passed  through 
into  the  crowded  church,  gay  with  the  summer  dresses 
of  the  ladies,  the  band  played  the  grand  march  from 
''Judas  Maccabaeus,"  the  organ  pealed  out  the  "  Jubi 
late."  On  the  communion-table  lay  the  corner-stone 
of  Ararat ! 

The  morning  service  was  read  by  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Searle  in  full  canonicals ;  the  choir  sang  "  Before 
Jehovah's  Awful  Throne " ;  then  came  a  special 
prayer  for  Ararat,  and  passages  from  Jeremiah, 
Zephaniah,  and  the  Psalms,  charged  with  divine 
promises  and  consolations  for  the  long  suffering  of 
Israel,  idyllic  pictures  of  the  Messianic  future,  sym- 
bolized by  the  silver  cups  with  wine,  corn,  and  oil, 
that  lay  on  the  corner-stone.  At  last  arose,  with 
that  crimson  silk  robe  trimmed  with  ermine  thrown 
over  his  stately  black  attire,  and  with  the  richly 
embossed  golden  medal  hanging  from  his  neck  — 
the  Master  of  the  Show,  the  Dramatist  of  the  Real, 
the  Humorist  without  a  sense  of  Humour,  the  Dreamer 
of  the  Ghetto  and  American  Man  of  Action,  the  Gov- 
ernor and  Judge  of  Israel,  the  Skophet,  —  in  brief, 
Mordecai  Manuel  Noah.  He  delivered  a  great  dis- 
course on  the  history  of  Israel  and  its  present  re- 
organization, which  filled  more  than  five  columns 
of  the  newspapers,  and  was  heard  with  solemn  atten- 
tion by  the  crowded  Christian  audience.  Save  a  few 
Indians  and  his  own  secretary,  not  a  single  Jew  was 


NOAH'S  ARK  113 

present  to  hold  in  check  the  orator's  oriental  imagi- 
nation. Then  the  glittering  procession  filed  back  to 
the  Lodge,  and  the  brethren  and  the  military  dined 
joyously  at  the  Eagle  Tavern,  and  Noah's  wit  and 
humour  returned  for  the  after-dinner  speech.  He 
withdrew  early  in  order  to  write  a  full  account  of  the 
proceedings  for  the  Buffalo  Patriot  Extra. 

A  salvo  of  twenty-four  guns  rounded  off  the  great 
day  of  Israel's  restoration. 

VI 

Meantime  Peloni  on  his  island  awaited  the  coming 
of  its  Ruler.  He  heard  faintly  the  cannonade  that 
preceded  and  concluded  the  laying  of  the  foundation- 
stone  in  the  chancel  of  the  church,  and  he  expected 
Noah  the  next  day  at  the  latest.  But  the  next  day 
passed,  and  no  Noah.  Peloni  fed  on  the  remains  of 
his  corn  and  drank  from  the  river,  but  though  his 
Indian  guide  was  gone  and  he  was  a  prisoner,  he 
had  no  fear  of  starvation,  because  he  saw  the  wig- 
wams of  another  Indian  encampment  across  the  river 
and  occasionally  a  party  of  them  would  glide  past  in 
a  large  canoe.  Despite  hunger,  his  sensations  on 
this  first  day  were  delicious.  The  poet  in  him  re- 
sponded rapturously  to  the  appeal  of  all  this  new 
life ;  to  feel  the  brotherhood  of  wild  creatures,  to 
sleep  under  the  stars  in  the  vast  night,  to  watch  the 
silent,  passionate  beauty  of  the  sunrise,  ripening  to 
the  music  of  the  birds. 


114  NOAH'S  ARK. 

On  the  second  day  his  eyes  were  gladdened  by 
the  oncoming  of  a  boat  rowed  by  two  whites.  They 
proved  to  be  a  stone  mason  and  his  man,  and  they 
b<jre  provisions,  a  letter,  and  newspapers  from 
Noah :  — 

"My  dear  Peloni: 

"  A  hurried  line  to  report  a  glorious  success,  thank  Heaven ! 
A  finer  day  and  more  general  satisfaction  has  not  been  known 
on  any  similar  occasion.  All  the  dignity  and  talent  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood for  miles  was  present.  I  hear  that  a  vast  concourse 
also  assembled  at  Tonawanda,  expecting  that  the  ceremonies 
would  be  at  Grand  Island,  but  that  many  of  them  came  up  in 
carriages  in  time  to  hear  my  Inaugural  Speech.  You  will  see 
that  the  newspapers,  especially  the  Buffalo  Patriot  Extra,  have 
reported  me  fully,  showing  how  they  realize  the  importance  of 
this  world-stirring  episode  in  Israel's  history.  Their  comments, 
too,  are  for  the  most  part  highly  sympathetic.  Qf  course  the 
New  York  Herald  will  sneer ;  but  then  Bennett  was  once  in  my 
employ  on  the  Courier  and  Enquirer.  They  tell  me  that  you 
duly  set  out  to  plant  the  flag  of  Judah,  and  I  assume  it  is  now  by 
God's  grace  waving  over  Ararat.  Heaven  bless  you  !  my  heart 
is  too  full  for  words.  I  had  hoped  to  find  time  to-day  to  behold 
the  sublime  spectacle  myself,  but  urgent  legal  business  calls  me 
back  to  New  York.  But  I  am  resolved  to  start  the  city  without 
delay,  and  the  bearers  of  this  have  my  plan  for  a  little  monument 
of  brick  and  wood  with  the  simple  inscription  —  ^  Ararat  founded 
by  Mordecai  Manuel  Noah,  1825'  —  from  the  summit  of  which 
the  flag  can  wave.  I  leave  you  to  superintend  the  same,  and 
take  any  measures  you  please  to  promote  the  growth  of  the  city 
and  to  receive,  as  my  representative,  the  inflowing  immigrants 
from  the  Ghettos  of  the  world.  I  appoint  you,  moreover.  Keeper 
of  the  Records.  To  you  shall  be  given  to  write  the  new  Book 
of  the  Chronicles  of  Israel.  My  friend  Mr.  Smith,  one  of  the 
proprietors  of  the  island,  will  communicate  with  you  on  behalf  of 
the  Shareholders,  as  occasion  arises.     Expect  me  shortly  (per- 


NOAH'S  ARK  115 

haps  with  my  bride,  for  I  am  entering  into  holy  wedlock  with 
the  most  amiable  and  beautiful  of  her  sex)  and  meantime  receive 
my  blessing. 

"  MoRDECAi  Manuel  Noah,  Judge  of  Israel, 

'•'•pro  A.  B.  Seixas,  Seer,  pro  tern.'''' 

While  the  little  monument  was  building,  and  the 
men  were  coming  to  and  fro  in  boats,  Peloni  made 
friends  with  the  Indians,  the  smoke-wreaths  of  whose 
lodges  hovered  across  the  river,  and  he  picked  up  a 
little  of  their  language.  Also  he  explored  his  island, 
drawn  by  the  crescendo  roar  of  Niagara.  It  was  at 
Burnt  Island  Bay  that  he  had  his  first,  if  distant,  view 
of  the  Falls  themselves.  The  rapids,  gurgling  and 
plunging  with  foam  and  swirl  and  eddy,  quickened 
his  blood,  but  the  cataracts  disappointed  him,  after 
that  rainbow  glimpse  of  the  upper  spray,  and  it  was 
not  till  he  got  himself  landed  on  the  Canadian  shore 
and  saw  the  monstrous  rush  of  the  vast  tameless  flood 
toward  the  great  leap  that  he  felt  the  presence  and 
the  power  that  were  to  be  with  him  for  the  rest  of  his 
days.  The  bend  of  the  Horse-Shoe  was  hidden  by  a 
white  spray  mountain  that  rose  above  its  topmost 
waters,  as  they  hurled  themselves  from  green  solidity 
to  creamy  mist.  And  as  he  looked,  lo !  the  enchant- 
ing rainbows  twinkled  again,  and  he  had  a  sense  as 
of  the  smile  of  God,  of  the  love  of  that  awful,  un- 
fathomable Being,  eternally  persistent,  while  the  gen- 
erations rise  and  fall  like  vaporous  spray. 

The  tide  was   low   and,   drawn   by  an   irresistible 


116  NOAH'S  ARK 

fascination,  he  adventured  down  among  the  rocks 
near  the  foot  of  the  Fall.  But  a  tingling  storm  of 
spray  smote  him  half  blind  and  wholly  breathless, 
and  all  he  could  see  was  a  monstrous  misty  Brocken- 
spirit  upreared  and  in  his  ears  were  a  thousand  thun- 
ders. A  wild  elemental  passion  swelled  and  lifted 
him.  Yes,  Force,  Force,  was  the  secret  of  things  : 
the  vast  primal  energies  that  sent  the  stars  shining 
and  the  seas  roaring.  Force,  Life,  Strength,  that 
was  what  Israel  needed.  It  had  grown  anaemic, 
slouching  along  its  ^ixXo,^^  Judengassen.  Oh,  to  fight, 
to  fight,  like  the  warriors  who  went  out  against  the 
Greeks,  who  defended  the  Holy  City  against  the 
Romans.  **  For  the  Lord  is  a  Man  of  War."  And 
he  shouted  the  cry  of  David,  "  Blessed  be  the  Lord, 
my  Rock,  who  teacheth  my  hands  to  war,  and  my 
fingers  to  fight."  But  he  stopped,  smitten  by  an 
ironic  memory.  This  very  blessing  was  uttered  every 
Sabbath  twiUght,  in  every  Ghetto,  by  every  bloodless 
worshipper,  to  a  melancholy  despairing  melody,  in 
the  lightless  dusk  of  the  synagogues. 

The  monument  was  speedily  erected  and,  being 
hollow,  proved  useful  for  Peloni  to  sleep  in,  as  the 
October  nights  grew  chilly.  And  thus  Peloni  lived, 
a  latter-day  Crusoe.  He  had  now  procured  fishing- 
tackle,  and  grew  dexterous  in  luring  black  bass  and 
perch  and  whitefish  from  the  river.  Also  he  had 
found  out  what  berries  he  might  eat.  Occasionally 
a  boat  would  sell  him  cornmeal  from  Buffalo,  but  his 


NOAH'S  ARK  117 

savings  were  melting  away  and  he  preferred  to  forage 
for  himself,  relishing  the  wild  flavour  of  uncivilized 
living.  He  even  wished  it  were  possible  to  eat  the 
birds  or  the  rabbits  he  could  have  killed :  but  as 
various  points  of  Jewish  law  forbade  such  diet,  there 
was  no  use  in  buying  a  musket  or  a  bow  and  arrow. 
So  his  relations  with  the  animal  world  remained 
purely  amicable.  The  robins  and  bluebirds  and 
thrushes  sang  for  him.  The  woodpeckers  tapped  on 
his  monument  to  wake  him  in  the  morning.  The 
blue  jays  screamed  without  wrath,  and  the  partridges 
drummed  unmartially.  The  squirrels  frolicked  with 
him,  and  the  rabbits  lost  their  shyness.  One  would 
have  said  these  were  the  Lost  Ten  Tribes  he  had 
found. 

Peloni  had  become,  not  the  Keeper  of  the  Records, 
but  the  Keeper  of  Noah's  Ark. 

VII 

So  winter  came,  and  there  was  still  nothing  to  re- 
cord, save  the  witchery  of  the  muffled  white  world 
with  its  blue  shadows  and  fantastic  ice  friezes  and 
stalactites.  Great  icicles  glittered  on  the  rocks,  show- 
ing all  the  hues  beneath.  Peloni,  wrapped  in  his 
blanket,  crouched  on  his  monument  over  a  log  that 
burnt  in  an  improvised  grate.  It  was  very  lonely. 
He  had  heard  from  no  one,  neither  from  Noah,  nor 
Smith,  nor  any  Jewish  or  even  Indian  pilgrim  to  the 


118  NOAH'S  ARK 

New  Jerusalem,  and  the  stock  of  winter  provisions 
had  exhausted  his  httle  hoard  of  coin.  The  old  de- 
spair began  to  twine  round  him  like  some  serpent  of 
ice.  As  he  Hstened  in  such  moods  to  the  distant 
thunder  of  Niagara  —  which  waxed  louder  as  the 
air  grew  heavier,  till  it  quite  dominated  the  ever 
present  rumble  of  the  rapids  —  the  sound  took  on 
endless  meanings  to  his  feverish  brain.  Now  it  was 
no  longer  the  voice  of  the  Eternal  Being,  it  was  the 
endless  plaint  of  Israel  beseeching  the  deaf  heaven, 
the  roar  of  prayer  from  some  measureless  synagogue  ; 
now  it  was  the  raucous  voice  of  persecution,  the  dull 
bestial  roar  of  malicious  multitudes  ;  and  again  it  was 
the  voice  of  the  whole  earth,  groaning  and  travailing. 
And  the  horror  of  it  was  that  it  would  not  stop.  It 
dropped  on  his  brain,  this  falling  water,  as  on  the 
prisoner's  in  the  mediaeval  torture  chamber.  Could 
no  one  stop  this  turning  wheel  of  the  world,  jar  it 
grindingly  to  a  standstill .? 

Spring  wore  slowly  round  again.  The  icicles 
melted,  the  friezes  dripped  away,  the  fantastic  muf- 
flers slipped  from  the  trees,  and  the  young  buds 
peeped  out  and  the  young  birds  sang.  The  river 
flowed  uncurdled,  the  cataracts  fell  unclogged. 

In  Peloni's  breast  alone  the  ice  did  not  melt :  no  new 
sap  stirred  in  his  veins.  The  very  rainbows  on  the 
leaping  mist  were  now  only  reminders  of  the  Biblical 
promise  that  the  world  would  go  on  forever ;  forever 
the  wheel  would  turn,  and  Israel  wander  homeless. 


NOAH'S  ARK  119 

And  at  last  one  sunny  day  a  boat  arrived  with  a 
message  from  the  Master.  Alas !  even  Noah  had 
abandoned  Ararat.  "I  am  beginning  to  see,"  he 
wrote,  "  that  our  only  hope  is  Palestine.  Zion  alone 
has  magnetism  for  the  Jew.  The  great  war  against 
Gog  prophesied  in  Ezel^iel  will  be  in  Palestine.  Gog 
is  Russia,  and  the  Russians  are  the  descendants  of 
the  joint  colony  of  Meshech  and  Tubal  and  the  little 
horn  of  Daniel.  Russia  in  an  attempt  to  wrest  India 
and  Turkey  from  the  English  and  the  Turks  will  make 
the  Holy  Land  the  theatre  of  a  terrible  conflict.  But 
yet  in  the  end  in  Jerusalem  shall  we  reerect  Solo- 
mon's Temple.  The  ports  of  the  Mediterranean 
will  be  again  open  to  the  busy  hum  of  commerce ; 
the  fields  will  again  bear  the  fruitful  harvest,  and 
Christian  and  Jew  will  together,  on  Mount  Zion, 
raise  their  voices  in  praise  of  Him  whose  covenant 
with  Abraham  was  to  endure  forever,  in  whose  seed 
all  the  nations  of  the  earth  are  to  be  blessed.  This 
is  our  destiny." 

Peloni  wandered  automatically  to  the  apex  of  the 
island  at  Burnt  Ship  Bay,  and  stood  gazing  meaning- 
lessly  at  the  fragments  of  the  sunken  ships.  Before 
him  raced  the  rapids,  frenziedly  anxious  for  the 
great  leap.  Even  so,  he  thought,  had  Noah  and 
he  dreamed  Israel  would  haste  to  Ararat.  And 
Niagara  maintained  its  mocking  roar  —  its  roar  of 
gigantic  laughter. 

Reerect     Solomon's     Temple    in     Palestine !      A 


120  NOAH'S  ARK 

ruined  country  to  regenerate  a  ruined  people !  A 
land  belonging  to  the  Turks,  centre  of  the  fanati- 
cisms of  three  religions  and  countless  sects !  A  soil 
which  even  to  Noah  was  the  destined  theatre  of 
world-shaking  war ! 

As  he  lifted  his  swimming  eyes  he  saw  to  his 
astonishment  that  he  was  no  longer  alone.  A  tall 
majestic  figure,  stood  gazing  at  him  :  a  grave,  sorrow- 
ful Indian,  feathered  and  tufted,  habited  only  in 
buckskin  leggings,  and  girdled  by  a  belt  of  wam- 
pum. A  musket  in  his  hand  showed  he  had  been 
hunting,  and  a  canoe  Peloni  now  saw  tethered  to  the 
bank  indicated  he  was  going  back  to  his  lodge. 
Peloni  knew  from  his  talks  with  the  Tonawanda 
Indians  opposite  Ararat  that  this  was  Red  Jacket, 
the  famous  chief  of  the  Iroquois,  the  ancient  lords 
of  the  soil.  Peloni  tendered  the  salute  due  to  the 
royalty  stamped  on  the  man.  Red  Jacket  cere- 
moniously acknowledged  the  obeisance.  Then  they 
gazed  silently  at  each  other,  the  puny,  stooping 
scholar  from  the  German  Ghetto,  and  the  stalwart, 
kingly   savage. 

''  Tell  me,"  said  Red  Jacket  imperiously,  "  what 
nation  are  you  that  build  a  monument  but  never  a 
city  like  the  other  white  men,  nor  even  a  camp  like 
my  people  t " 

"  Great  Chief,"  replied  Peloni  in  his  best  Iroquois, 
"  we  are  a  people  that  build  for  others." 

"  I  would  ye  would  build  for  my  people  then.     For 


NOAH'S  ARK  121 

these  white  men  sweep  us  back,  farther,  farther,  till 
there  is  nothing  but"  —  and  he  made  an  eloquent 
gesture,  implying  the  sweep  into  the  river,  into  the 
jaws  of  the  hurrying  rapids.  "Yet,  methinks,  I 
heard  of  a  plan  of  your  people  —  of  a  great  pow- 
wow of  your  chiefs  in  a  church,  of  a  great  city  to  be 
born  here." 

**  It  is  dead  before  birth,"  said  Peloni. 

"  Strange,"  mused  Red  Jacket.  "  Scarce  twenty 
summers  ago  Joseph  Elliott  came  here  to  plan  out 
his  city  on  a  soil  that  was  not  his,  and  lo !  this  Buf- 
falo rises  already  mighty  and  menacing.  To-morrow 
it  will  be  at  my  wigwam  door  —  and  we"  —  another 
gesture,  hopeless,  yet  full  of  regal  dignity,  rounded 
off  the  sentence. 

And  in  that  instant  it  was  borne  in  upon  Peloni 
that  they  were  indeed  brothers :  the  Jew  who  stood 
for  the  world  that  could  not  be  born  again,  and  the 
Red  Indian  who  stood  for  the  world  that  must  pass 
away.  Yes,  they  were  both  doomed.  Israel  had 
been  too  bent  and  broken  by  the  long  dispersion  and 
the  long  persecution  :  the  spring  was  snapped ;  he 
could  not  recover.  He  had  been  too  long  the  pliant 
protege  of  kifigs  and  popes :  he  had  prayed  too 
many  centuries  in  too  many  countries  for  the  simul- 
taneous welfare  of  too  many  governments,  to  be 
capable  of  realizing  that  government  of  his  own 
for  which  he  likewise  prayed.  This  pious  patience 
—  this  rejection  of  the  burden  on  to  the  shoulders 


122  NOAH'S  ARK 

of  Messiah  and  Miracle  —  was  it  more  than  the  veil 
of  unconscious  impotence  ?  Ah,  better  sweep  oneself 
away  than  endure  the  long  ignominy.  And  Niagara 
laughed  on. 

*'  May  I  have  the  privilege  of  crossing  in  your 
canoe  ? "  he    asked. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  .?  "  said  Red  Jacket.  "  The 
rapids  are  dangerous  here." 

Afraid !  Peloni's  inward  laughter  seemed  to  him- 
self to  match  Niagara's. 

When  he  got  to  the  mainland,  he  made  straight 
for  the  Fall.  He  was  on  the  American  side,  and  he 
paused  on  the  sward,  on  the  very  brink  of  the  tame- 
less cataract,  that  had  for  immemorial  ages  been 
driving  itself  backward  by  eating  away  its  own  rock. 
His  fascinated  eyes  watched  the  curious  smooth, 
purring  slide  of  the  vast  mass  of  green  water  over 
the  sharp  edges,  unending,  unresting,  the  eternal 
revolution  of  a  maddening,  imperturbable  wheel. 
O  that  blind  wheel,  turning,  turning,  while  the 
generations  waxed  and  waned,  one  succeeding  the 
other  without  haste  or  rest  or  possibility  of  pause : 
creatures  of  meaningless  majesty,,  shadows  of 
shadows,  dreaming  of  love  and  justice,  and  fading 
into  the  kindred  mist,  while  this  solid  green  cataract 
roared  and  raced  through  aeons  innumerable,  stable 
as  the  stars,  thundering  in  majestic  meaninglessness. 
And  suddenly  he  threw  himself  into  its  remorseless 
whirl  and  was  sucked  down  into  the  monstrous  chaos 


NOAH'S  ARK  123 

of  seething  waters  and  whirled  and  hurled  amid  the 
rocks,  battered  and  shapeless,  but  still  holding 
Noah's  letter  in  his  convulsively  clinched  hand,  while 
the  rainbowed  spray  leapt  impassively  heavenward. 

The  corner-stone  of  Ararat  lies  in  the  rooms  of  the 
Buffalo  Historical  Society,  and  no  one  who  copies  the 
inscription  dreams  that  it  is  the  gravestone  of  Peloni. 

And  while  the  very  monument  has  mouldered 
away  in  Ararat,  Buffalo  sits  throned  amid  her  waters, 
the  Queen  City  of  the  Empire  State,  with  the  world's 
commerce  at  her  feet.  And  from  their  palaces  of 
Medina  sandstone  the  Christian  railroad  kings  go  out 
to  sail  in  their  luxurious  yachts,  —  vessels  not  of 
bulrushes  but  driven  by  steam,  as  predicted  by  Mor- 
decai  Manuel  Noah,  Governor  and  Judge  of  Israel. 


IV 
THE    LAND   OF    PROMISE 


IV 
THE    LAND    OF   PROMISE 

I 

**  Telegraph  how  many  pieces  you  have." 
In  this  wise  did  the  Steamship  Company  convey 
to  the  astute  agent  its  desire  to  know  how  many 
Russian  Jews  he  was  smuggUng  out  of  the  Pale  into 
the  steerage  of  its  Atlantic  liner. 

The  astute  agent's  task  was  simple  enough.  The 
tales  he  told  of  America  were  only  the  clarification 
of  a  nebulous  vision  of  the  land  flowing  with  milk 
and  honey  that  hovered  golden-rayed  before  all  these 
hungry  eyes.  To  the  denizens  of  the  Pale,  in  their 
cellars,  in  their  gutter-streets,  in  their  semi-sub- 
terranean shops  consisting  mainly  of  shutters  and 
annihilating  one  another's  profits ;  to  the  congested 
populations  newly  reinforced  by  the  driving  back  of 
thousands  from  beyond  the  Pale,  and  yet  multiplying 
still  by  an  improvident  reliance  on  Providence ;  to 
the  old  people  pauperized  by  the  removal  of  the 
vodka  business  to  Christian  hands,  and  the  young 
people  dammed  back  from  their  natural  outlets  by 
Pan-Slavic  ukases,  and  clogged  with  whimsical  edicts 

12; 


128  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

and  rescripts  —  the  astute  agent's  offer  of  getting 
you  through  Germany,  without  even  a  Russian  pass- 
port, by  a  simple  passage  from  Libau  to  New  York, 
was  peculiarly  alluring. 

It  was  really  almost  an  over-baiting  of  the  hook 
on  the  part  of  the  too  astute  agent  to  whisper  that 
he  had  had  secret  information  of  a  new  thunderbolt 
about  to  be  launched  at  the  Pale ;  whereby  the  period 
of  service  for  Jewish  conscripts  would  be  extended 
to  fifteen  years,  and  the  area  of  service  would  be 
extended  to  Siberia. 

"Three  hundred  and  seventy-seven  pieces,"  ran 
his  telegram  in  reply.  In  a  letter  he  suggested 
other  business  he  might  procure  for  the  line. 

*'  Confine  yourself  to  freight,"  the  Company  wrote 
cautiously,  for  even  under  sealed  envelopes  you  can- 
not be  too  careful.     ''The  more  the  better." 

Freight !  The  word  was  not  inexact.  Did  not 
even  the  Government  reports  describe  these  ex- 
ploiters of  the  Muzhik  as  in  some  places  packed  in 
their  hovels  like  salt  herrings  in  a  barrel ;  as  sleeping 
at  night  in  serried  masses  in  sties  which  by  day  were 
tallow  or  leath'fer  factories  1 

To  be  shipped  as  cargo  came  therefore  natural 
enough.  Nevertheless,  each  of  these  "pieces,"  being 
human  after  all,  had  a  history,  and  one  of  these 
histories  is  here  told. 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  129 


II 


Nowhere  was  the  poverty  of  the  Pale  bitterer  than 
in  the  weavers'  colony,  in  which  Srul  betrothed  him- 
self to  Biela.  The  dowries,  which  had  been  wont  to 
kindle  so  many  young  men's  passions,  had  fallen  to 
freezing-point;  and  Biela,  if  she  had  no  near  prospect 
of  marriage,  could  console  herself  with  the  know- 
ledge that  she  was  romantically  loved.  Even  the 
attraction  of  kest  —  temporary  maintenance  of  the 
young  couple  by  the  father-in-law  —  was  wanting  in 
Biela's  case,  for  the  simple  reason  that  she  had  no 
father,  both  her  parents  having  died  of  the  effort 
to  get  a  living.  For  marriage-portion  and  kest, 
Biela  could  only  bring  her  dark  beauty,  and  even 
that  was  perhaps  less  than  it  seemed.  For  you 
scarcely  ever  saw  Biela  apart  from  her  homely  quasi- 
mother,  her  elder  sister  Leah,  who,  like  the  original 
Leah,  had  "tender  eyes,"  which  combined  with  a 
pock-marked  face  to  ensure  for  her  premature  recog- 
nition as  an  old  maid.  The  inflamed  eyelids  were 
the  only  legacy  Leah's  father  had  left  her. 

From  Srul's  side,  though  his  parents  were  living, 
came  even  fainter  hope  of  the  wedding-canopy. 
Srul's  father  was  blind  —  perhaps  a  further  evidence 
that  the  local  hygienic  conditions  were  nocuous  to 
the  eye  in  particular  —  and  Srul  himself,  who  had 
occupied  most  of  his  time  in  learning  to  weave 
Rabbinic  webs,  had  only  just  turned  his  attention  to 


130  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

cloth,  though  Heaven  was  doubtless  pleased  with 
the  gear  of  Gemara  he  had  gathered  in  his  short 
sixteen  years.  The  old  weaver  had  —  in  more  than 
one  sense  —  seen  better  days  before  his  affliction  and 
the  great  factories  came  on  :  days  when  the  indepen- 
dent hand-weaver  might  sit  busily  before  the  loom 
from  the  raw  dawn  to  the  black  midnight,  taking 
his  meals  at  the  bench  ;  days  when,  moreover,  the 
*'  piece  "  of  satin-faced  cloth  was  many  ells  shorter. 
"  But  they  make  up  for  the  extra  length,"  he  would  say 
with  pathetic  humour,  "by  cutting  the  pay  shorter." 

The  same  sense  of  humour  enabled  him  to  bear 
up  against  the  forced  rests  that  increasing  slackness 
brought  the  hand-weavers,  while  the  factories  whirred 
on.  "■  Now  is  the  proverb  fulfilled,"  he  cried  to  his 
unsmiling  wife,  "for  there  are  two  Sabbaths  a  week." 
Alas !  as  the  winter  grew  older  and  colder,  it  became 
a  week  of  Sabbaths.  The  wheels  stood  still ;  in  all 
the  colony  not  a  spool  was  reeled.  It  was  unpre- 
cedented. Gradually  the  factories  had  stolen  the 
customers.  Some  sat  waiting  dazedly  for  the  raw 
yarns  they  knew  could  no  longer  come  at  this  season ; 
others  left  the  suburb  in  which  the  colony  had 
drowsed  from  time  immemorial,  and  sought  odd 
jobs  in  the  town,  in  the  frowning  shadows  of  the 
factories.  But  none  would  enter  the  factories  them- 
selves, though  these  were  ready  to  suck  them  in  on 
one  sole  condition. 

Ah  !  here  was  the  irony  of  the  tragedy.     The  one 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  131 

condition  was  the  one  condition  the  poor  weavers 
could  not  accept.  It  was  open  to  them  to  reduce  the 
week  of  Sabbaths  to  its  ancient  and  diurnal  dimen- 
sions, provided  the  Sabbath  itself  came  on  Sunday. 
Nay,  even  the  working-day  offered  them  was  less, 
and  the  wage  was  more  than  their  own.  The  deeper 
irony  within  this  irony  was  that  the  proprietor  of 
every  one  of  these  factories  was  a  brother  in  Israel ! 
Jeshurun  grown  fat  and  kicking. 

Even  the  old  blind  man's  composure  deserted  him 
when  it  began  to  be  borne  in  on  his  darkness  that 
the  younger  weavers  meditated  surrender.  The 
latent  explosives  generated  through  the  years  by 
their  perusal  of  un-Jewish  books  in  insidious  "Yid- 
dish "  versions,  now  bade  fair  to  be  touched  to  erup- 
tion by  this  paraded  prosperity  of  wickedness ;  wick- 
edness that  had  even  discarded  the  caftan  and  shaved 
the  corners  of  its  beard. 

*'  But  thou,  apple  of  my  eye,"  the  old  man  said  to 
Srul,  "thou  wilt  die  rather  than  break  the  Sabbath.!^" 

"  Father,"  quoted  the  youth,  with  a  shuddering 
emotion  at  the  bare  idea,  "  I  have  been  young  and 
now  I  am  old,  but  never  have  I  seen  the  righteous 
forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  for  bread." 

"  My  son !  A  true  spark  of  the  Patriarchs ! " 
And  the  old  man  clasped  the  boy  to  his  arms  and 
kissed  him  on  the  pious  cheeks  down  which  the  ear- 
locks  dangled. 

"  But   if    Biela   should   tempt   thee,  so   that  thou 


132  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

couldst  have  the  wherewithal  to  marry  her,"  put  in 
his  mother,  who  could  not  keep  her  thoughts  off 
grandchildren. 

"  Not  for  apples  of  gold,  mother,  will  I  enter  the 
service  of  these  serpents." 

*'  Nevertheless,  Biela  is  fair  to  see,  and  thou  art 
getting  on  in  years,"  murmured  the  mother. 

*'  Leah  would  not  give  Biela  to  a  Sabbath-breaker," 
said  the  old  man  reassuringly. 

"  Yes,  but  suppose  she  gives  her  to  a  bread-winner," 
persisted  the  mother.  "  Do  not  forget  that  Biela  is 
already  fifteen,  only  a  year  younger  than  thyself." 

But  Leah  kept  firm  to  the  troth  she  had  plighted 
on  behalf  of  Biela,  even  though  the  young  man's 
family  sank  lower  and  lower,  till  it  was  at  last  reduced 
from  the  little  suburban  wooden  cottage,  with  the 
spacious  courtyard,  to  one  corner  of  a  large  town- 
cellar,  whose  population  became  amphibious  when 
the  Vistula  overflowed. 

And  Srul  kept  firm  to  the  troth  Israel  had  plighted 
with  the  Sabbath-bride,  even  when  his  father's  heart 
no  longer  beat,  so  could  not  be  broken.  The  old 
man  remained  to  the  last  the  most  cheerful  denizen 
of  the  cellar :  perhaps  because  he  was  spared  the 
vision  of  his  emaciated  fellow-troglodytes.  He  called 
the  cellar  "  Arba  Kanfos,"  after  the  four-cornered 
garment  of  fringes  which  he  wore  :  and  sometimes 
he  said  these  were  the  "Four  Corners"  from  which, 
according  to  the  Prophets,  God  would  gather  Israel. 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  133 


III 


In  such  a  state  of  things  an  agent  scarcely  needed 
to  be  astute.  *'  Pieces  "  were  to  be  had  for  the  pick- 
ing up.  The  only  trouble  was  that  they  were  not 
gold  pieces.  The  idle  weavers  could  not  defray  the 
passage-money,  still  less  the  agent's  commission  for 
smuggling'  them  through. 

"  If  I  only  had  a  few  hundred  roubles,"  Srul 
lamented  to  Leah,  "  I  could  get  to  a  land  where  there 
is  work  without  breaking  the  Sabbath,  a  land  to 
which  Biela  could  follow  me  when  I  waxed  in  sub- 
stance." 

Leah  supported  her  household  of  three  —  for  there 
was  a  younger  sister,  Tsirrele,  who,  being  only  nine, 
did  not  count  except  at  meal-times  —  on  the  price  of 
her  piece-work  at  the  Christian  umbrella  factory, 
where,  by  a  considerate  Russian  law,  she  could  work 
on  Sunday,  though  the  Christians  might  not.  Thus 
she  earned,  by  literal  sweating  in  a  torrid  atmosphere, 
three  roubles,  all  except  a  varying  number  of  kopecks, 
every  week.  And  when  you  live  largely  on  black 
bread  and  coffee,  you  may,  in  the  ^course  of  years, 
save  a  good  deal,  even  if  you  have  three  mouths. 
Therefore,  Leah  had  the  sum  that  Srul  mentioned  so 
wistfully,  put  by  for  a  rainy  day  (when  there  should 
be  no  umbrellas  to  make).  And  as  the  sum  had  kept 
increasing,  the  notion  that  it  might  form  the  nucleus 
of  an  establishment  for  Biela  and  Srul   had  grown 


134  THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE 

clearer  and  clearer  in  her  mind,  which  it  tickled  de- 
lightfully. But  the  idea  that  now  came  to  her  of 
staking  all  on  a  possible  future  was  agitating. 

"We  might,  perhaps,  be  able  to  get  together  the 
money,"  she  said  tentatively.  "  But  — "  She 
shook  her  head,  and  the  Russian  proverb  came  to 
her  lips.  ''  Before  the  sun  rises  the  dew  may  destroy 
you." 

Srul  plunged  into  an  eager  recapitulation  of  the 
agent's  assurances.  And  before  the  eyes  of  both  the 
marriage-canopy  reared  itself  splendid  in  the  Land 
of  Promise,  and  the  figure  of  Biela  flitted,  crowned 
with  the  bridal  wreath. 

"  But  what  will  become  of  your  mother } "  Leah 
asked. 

Srul's  soap-bubbles  collapsed.  He  had  forgotten 
for  the  moment  that  he  had  a  mother. 

"  She  might  come  to  live  with  us,"  Leah  hastened 
to  suggest,  seeing  his  o'erclouded  face. 

"Ah,  no,  that  would  be  too  much  of  a  burden. 
And  Tsirrele,  too,  is  growing  up." 

"  Tsirrele  eats  quite  as  much  now  as  she  will  in 
ten  years'  time,"  said  Leah,  laughing,  as  she  thought 
fondly  of  her  dear,  beautiful  little  one,  her  gay  whim- 
sies and  odd  caprices. 

"And  my  mother  does  not  eat  very  much,"  said 
Srul,  wavering. 

In  this  way  Srul  became  a  "  piece,"  and  was 
dumped  down  in  the  Land  of  Promise. 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  136 

IV 

To  the  four  females  left  behind  —  odd  fragments  of 
two  families  thrown  into  an  odder  one  —  the  move- 
ments of  the  particular  piece,  Srul,  were  the  chief 
interest  of  existence.  The  life  in  the  three-roomed 
wooden  cottage  soon  fell  into  a  routine,  Leah  going 
daily  to  the  tropical  factory,  Biela  doing  the  house- 
work and  dreaming  of  her  lover,  little  Tsirrel6  frisk- 
ing about  and  chattering  like  the  squirrel  she  was, 
and  Srul's  mother  dozing  and  criticising  and  yearning 
for  her  lost  son  and  her  unborn  grandchildren.  By 
the  time  Srul's  first  letter,  with  its  exciting  pictorial 
stamp,  arrived  from  the  Land  of  Promise,  the  house- 
hold seemed  to  have  been  established  on  this  basis 
from  time  immemorial. 

"  I  had  a  lucky  escape,  God  be  thanked,"  Srul 
wrote.  "  For  when  I  arrived  in  New  York  I  had 
only  fifty-one  roubles  in  my  pocket.  Now  it  seems 
that  these  rich  Americans  are  so  afraid  of  being  over- 
loaded with  paupers  that  they  will  not  let  you  in,  if 
you  have  less  than  fifty  dollars,  unless  you  can  prove 
you  are  sure  to  prosper.  And  a  dollar,  my  dear 
Biela,  is  a  good  deal  more  than  a  rouble.  However, 
blessed  be  the  Highest  One,  I  learned  of  this  ukase 
just  the  day  before  we  arrived,  and  was  able  to 
borrow  the  difference  from  a  fellow-passenger,  who 
lent  me  the  money  to  show  the  Commissioners.  Of 
course,  I  had  to  give  it  back  as  soon  as  I  was  passed, 


136  THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE 

and  as  I  had  to  pay  him  five  roubles  for  the  use  of 
it,  I  set  foot  on  the  soil  of  freedom  with  only  forty- 
six.  However,  it  was  well  worth  it;  for  just  think, 
beloved  Biela,  if  I  had  been  shipped  back  and  all 
that  money  wasted  !  The  interpreter  also  said  to  me, 
*I  suppose  you  have  got  some  work  to  do  here?* 
*  I  wish  I  had,'  I  said.  No  sooner  had  the  truth 
slipped  out  than  my  heart  seemed  turned  to  ice,  for  I 
feared  they  would  reject  me  after  all  as  a  poor  wretch 
out  of  work.  But  quite  the  contrary;  it  seemed  this 
was  only  a  trap,  a  snare  of  the  fowler.  Poor  Camin- 
ski  fell  into  it  —  you  remember  the  red-haired  weaver 
who  sold  his  looms  to  the  Maggid's  brother-in-law. 
He  said  he  had  agreed  to  take  a  place  in  a  glove 
factory.  It  is  true,  you  know,  that  some  Polish  Jews 
have  made  a  glove  town  in  the  north,  so  the  poor 
man  thought  that  would  sound  plausible.  Hence 
you  may  expect  to  see  Caminski's  red  hair  back 
again,  unless  he  takes  ship  again  from  Libau  and 
tells  the  truth  at  the  second  attempt.  I  left  him 
howling  in  a  wooden  pen,  and  declaring  he  would 
kill  himself  rather  than  face  his  friends  at  home  with 
the  brand  on  his  head  of  not  being  good  enough  for 
America.  He  did  not  understand  that  contract- 
labourers  are  not  let  in.  Protection  is  the  word  they 
call  it.  Hence,  I  thank  God  that  my  father  —  his 
memory  for  a  blessing  !  —  taught  me  to  make  Truth 
the  law  of  my  mouth,  as  it  is  written.  Verily  was 
the  word  of  the  Talmud  (Tractate  Sabbath)  fulfilled 


THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE  137 

at  the  landing-stage :  '  Falsehood  cannot  stay,  but 
truth  remains  forever.'  With  God's  help,  I  shall 
remain  here  all  my  life,  for  it  is  a  land  overflowing 
with  milk  and  honey.  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  tell 
my  dove  that  the  voyage  was  hard  and  bitter  as  the 
Egyptian  bondage ;  not  because  of  the  ocean,  over 
which  I  passed  as  easily  as  our  forefathers  over  the 
Red  Sea,  but  by  reason  of  the  harshness  of  the  over- 
seers, who  regarded  not  our  complaints  that  the  meat 
was  not  kosher,  as  promised  by  the  agent.  Also  the 
butter  and  meat  plates  were  mixed  up.  I  and  many 
with  me  lived  on  dry  bread,  nor  could  we  always  get 
hot  water  to  make  coffee.  When  my  Biela  comes 
across  the  great  waters  —  God  send  her  soon  —  she 
must  take  with  her  salt  meat  of  her  own." 

From  the  first,  Srul  courageously  assumed  that 
the  meat  would  soon  have  to  be  packed ;  nay,  that 
Leah  might  almost  set  about  salting  it  at  once.  Even 
the  slow  beginnings  of  his  profits  as  a  peddler  did 
not  daunt  him.  "  A  great  country,"  he  wrote  on 
paper  stamped  with  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  with  an 
eagle  screaming  on  the  envelope.  "  No  special  taxes 
for  the  Jews,  permission  to  travel  where  you  please, 
the  schools  open  freely  to  our  children,  no  passports 
and  papers  at  every  step,  above  all,  no  conscription. 
No  wonder  the  people  call  it  God's  own  country. 
Truly,  as  it  is  written,  this  is  none  other  but  the 
House  of  God,  this  is  the  Gate  of  Heaven.  And 
when  Biela  comes,  it  will  be  Heaven."     Letters  like 


138  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

this  enlarged  the  little  cottage  as  with  an  American 
room,  brightened  it  as  with  a  fresh  wash  of  blue 
paint.  Despite  the  dreary  grind  of  the  week,  Sab- 
baths and  festivals  found  the  household  joyous 
enough.  The  wedding-canopy  of  Srul  and  Biela 
was  a  beacon  of  light  for  all  four,  which  made  life 
livable  as  they  struggled  toward  it.  Nevertheless, 
it  came  but  slowly  to  meet  them :  nearly  three  years 
oozed  by  before  Srul  began  to  lift  his  eye  toward  a 
store.  The  hereditary  weaver  of  business  combina- 
tions had  emerged  tardily  from  beneath  the  logic- 
weaver  and  the  cloth-weaver,  but  of  late  he  had  been 
finding  himself.  '*  If  I  could  only  get  together  five 
hundred  dollars  clear,"  he  wrote  to  Leah.  "  For 
that  is  all  I  should  have  to  pay  down  for  a  ladies' 
store  near  Broadway,  and  just  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs  of  the  Elevated  Railway.  What  a  pity  I  have 
only  four  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars !  Stock 
and  goodwill,  and  only  five  hundred  dollars  cash ! 
The  other  five  hundred  could  stand  over  at  five  per 
cent.  If  I  were  once  in  the  store  I  could  gradually 
get  some  of  the  rooms  above  (there  is  already  a 
parlour,  in  which  I  shall  sleep),  and  then,  as  soon  as 
I  was  making  a  regular  profit,  I  could  send  Biela 
and  mother  their  passage-money,  and  my  wife  could 
help  'the  boss'  behind  the  counter." 

To  hasten  the  rosy  day  Leah  sent  thirty-five 
roubles,  and  presently,  sure  enough,  Srul  was  in 
possession,    and    a   photograph    of    the   store   itself 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  139 

came  over  to  gladden  their  weary  eyes  and  dilate 
those  of  the  neighbours.  The  photograph  of  Srul, 
which  had  come  eighteen  months  before,  was  not  so 
suited  for  display,  since  his  peaked  cap  and  his 
caftan  had  been  replaced  by  a  jacket  and  a  bowler, 
and,  but  for  the  ear-locks  which  were  still  in  the 
picture,  he  would  have  looked  like  a  factory-owner. 
In  return,  Srul  received  a  photograph  of  the  four  — 
taken  together,  for  economy's  sake  —  Leah  with  her 
arm  around  Biela's  waist,  and  Tsirrele  sitting  in  his 
mother's  lap. 


But  a  long,  wearying  struggle  was  still  before  the 
new  ''boss,"  and  two  years  crept  along,  with  their 
turns  of  luck  and  ill-luck,  of  bargains  and  bad  debts, 
ere  the  visionary  marriage-canopy  (that  seemed  to 
span  the  Atlantic)  began  to  stand  solidly  on  Ameri- 
can soil.  The  third  year  was  not  half  over  ere  Srul 
actually  sent  the  money  for  Biela's  passage,  together 
with  a  handsome  "  waist "  from  his  stock,  for  her  to 
wear.  But  Biela  was  too  timid  to  embark  alone  with- 
out Srul's  mother,  whose  fare  Srul  could  not  yet 
manage  to  withdraw  from  his  capital.  Leah,  of 
course,  offered  to  advance  it,  but  Biela  refused  this 
vehemently,  because  a  new  hope  had  begun  to  spring 
up  in  her  breast.  Why  should  she  be  parted  from 
her  family  at  all  1  Since  her  marriage  had  been  de- 
layed these  five  and  a  half  years,  a  few  months  more 


140  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

or  less  could  make  no  difference.  Let  Leah's  sav- 
ings, then,  be  for  Leah's  passage  (and  Tsirrele's) 
and  to  give  her  a  start  in  the  New  World.  "  It 
rains,  even  in  America,  and  there  are  umbrella  fac- 
tories there,  too,"  she  urged.  "  You  will  make  twice 
the  living.     Look  at  Srul !  " 

And  there  was  a  new  fear,  too,  which  haunted 
Biela's  aching  heart,  but  which  she  dared  not  express 
to  Leah.  Leah's  eyes  were  getting  worse.  The 
temperature  of  the  factory  was  a  daily  hurt,  and 
then,  too,  she  had  read  so  many  vilely  printed  Yid- 
dish books  and  papers  by  the  light  of  the  tallow 
candle.  \A/'hat  if  she  were  going  blind.'*  What  if, 
while  she,  Biela,  was  happy  with  Srul,  Leah  should 
be  starving  with  Tsirr^l^ }  No,  they  must  all  remain 
together :  and  she  clung  to  her  sister,  with  tears. 

To  Leah  the  prospect  of  witnessing  her  sister's 
happiness  was  so  seductive  that  she  tried  to  take  the 
lowest  estimate  of  her  own  chances  of  finding  work 
in  New  York.  Her  savings,  almost  eaten  up  by  the 
journey,  could  not  last  long,  and  it  would  be  terrible 
to  have  to  come  upon  Srul  for  help,  a  man  with  a 
wife  and  (if  God  were  good)  children,  to  say  nothing 
of  his  old  mother.  No,  she  could  not  risk  Tsirr61e's 
bread. 

But  the  increased  trouble  with  her  eyes  turned  her 
in  favour  of  going,  though,  curiously  enough,  for  a 
side  reason  quite  unlike  Biela's.  Leah,  too,  was 
afraid  of  a  serious  breakdown,  though  slhe  would  not 


THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE  141 

hint  her  fears  to  any  one  else.  From  her  miscellane- 
ous Yiddish  reading  she  had  gathered  that  miraculous 
eye-doctors  lived  in  Konigsberg.  Now  a  journey  to 
Germany  was  not  to  be  thought  of ;  if  she  went  to 
America,  however,  it  could  be  taken  en  route.  It 
would  be  a  sort  of  saving,  and  few  things  appealed 
to  Leah  as  much  as  economy.  This  was  why,  some 
four  months  later,  the  ancient  furniture  of  the  blue- 
washed  cottage  was  sold  off,  and  the  quartette  set 
their  faces  for  America  by  way  of  Germany.  The 
farewell  to  the  home  of  their  youth  took  place  in  the 
cemetery  among  the  high-shouldered  Hebrew-speak- 
ing stones.  Leah  and  Biela  passionately  invoked 
the  spirits  of  their  dead  parents  and  bade  them 
watch  over  their  children.  The  old  woman  scribbled 
Srul  and  Biela's  interlinked  names  over  the  flat  tomb 
of  a  holy  scholar.  "Take  their  names  up  to  the 
Highest  One,"  she  pleaded.  "  Entreat  that  their 
quiver  be  full,  for  the  sake  of  thy  righteousness." 

More  dead  than  alive,  the  four  "  pieces  "  with  their 
bundles  arrived  at  Hamburg.  Days  and  nights  of 
travelling,  packed  Hke  "  freight "  in  hard,  dirty 
wooden  carriages,  the  endless  worry  of  passports, 
tickets,  questions,  hygienic  inspections  and  processes, 
the  illegal  exactions  of  petty  officials,  the  strange 
phantasmagoria  of  places  and  faces — all  this  had  left 
them  dazed.  Only  two  things  kept  up  their  spirits 
—  the  image  of  Srul  waiting  on  the  Transatlantic 
wharf  in  hymeneal  attire,  and  the  "  pooh-pooh "  of 


142  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

the  miraculous  Konigsberg  doctor,  reassuring  Leah 
as  to  her  eyes.  There  was  nothing  radically  the 
matter.  Even  the  inflamed  eyelids  —  though  in- 
curable, because  hereditary  —  would  improve  with 
care.  Peasant-like,  Leah  craved  a  lotion.  "  The 
sea  voyage  and  the  rest  will  do  you  more  good  than 
my  medicines.  And  don't  read  so  much."  Not  a 
groschen  did  Leah  have  to  pay  for  the  great  special- 
ist's services.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  hard  life 
anybody  had  done  anything  for  her  for  nothing,  and 
her  involuntary  weeping  over  this  phenomenon  tended 
to  hurt  the  very  eyelids  under  attention.  They  were 
still  further  taxed  by  the  kindness  of  the  Jewish  com- 
mittee at  Hamburg,  on  the  look-out  to  smooth  the 
path  of  poor  emigrants  and  overcome  their  dietary 
difficulties.  But  it  was  a  crowded  ship,  and  our 
party  reverted  again  to  "  freight."  With  some  of 
the  other  females,  they  were  accommodated  in  ham- 
mocks swung  over  the  very  dining-tables,  so  that 
they  must  needs  rise  at  dawn  and  be  cleared  away 
before  breakfast.  The  hot,  oily  whiff  of  the  cooking- 
engines  came  through  the  rocking  doorway.  Of  the 
quartette,  only  Tsirrele  escaped  sea-sickness,  but 
"  baby  "  was  too  accustomed  to  be  petted  and  nursed 
to  be  able  suddenly  to  pet  and  nurse,  and  she  would 
spend  hours  on  the  slip  of  lower  deck,  peering  into 
the  fairy  saloons  which  were  vivified  by  bugle  instead 
of  bell,  and  in  which  beautiful  people  ate  dishes  fit 
for  the  saints  in  Heaven.  '  By  an  effort  of  will,  Leah 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  143 

soon  returned  to  her  role  of  factotum,  but  the  old 
woman  and  Biela  remained  limp  to  the  end.  For- 
tunately, there  was  only  one  day  of  heavy  rolling  and 
battened-down  hatches.  For  the  bulk  of  the  voyage 
the" great  vessel  brushed  the  pack  of  waves  disdain- 
fully aside.  And  one  wonderful  day,  amid  unspeak- 
able joy,  New  York  arrived,  preceded  by  a  tug  and 
by  a  boat  that  conveyed  inquiring  officials.  The 
great  statue  of  Liberty,  on  Bedloe's  Island,  upheld 
its  torch  to  light  the  new-comers'  path.  Srul  — there 
he  is  on  the  wharf,  dear  old  Srul !  —  God  bless  him  ! 
despite  his  close-cropped  hair  and  his  shaven  ear- 
locks.  Ah !  Heaven  be  praised !  Don't  you  see 
him  waving  .?  Ah,  but  we,  too,  must  be  content  with 
waving.  For  here  only  the  tschinoimiks  of  the  gilded 
saloon  may  land.  The  ''freight"  must  be  packed 
later  into  rigid  gangs,  according  to  the  ship's  mani- 
fest, transferred  to  a  smaller  steamer  and  discharged 
on  Ellis  Island,  a  little  beyond  Bedloe's. 

VI 

And  at  Ellis  Island  a  terrible  thing  happened,  un- 
foreseen— a  shipwreck  in  the  very  harbour. 

As  the  "freight"  filed  slowly  along  the  corridor- 
cages  in  the  great  bare  hall,  like  cattle  inspected  at 
ports  by  the  veterinary  surgeon,  it  came  into  the 
doctor's  head  that  Leah's  eye-trouble  was  infectious. 
"Granular   lids  —  contagious,"    he   diagnosed   it  on 


144  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

paper.  And  this  diagnosis  was  a  flaming  sword  that 
turned  every  way,  guarding  against  Leah  the  Land 
of  Promise. 

**But  it  is  not  infectious,"  she  protested  in  her  best 
German.     "  It  is  only  in  the  family." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  dryly  replied  America's  Guardian 
Angel,  who  was  now  examining  the  obvious  sister 
clinging  to  Leah's  skirts.  And  in  Biela,  heavy-eyed 
with  sickness  and  want  of  sleep,  his  suspicious  vision 
easily  discovered  a  reddish  rim  of  eyelid  that  lent 
itself  to  the  same  fatal  diagnosis,  and  sent  her  to  join 
Leah  in  the  dock  of  the  rejected.  The  fresh-faced 
Tsirrele  and  the  wizen-faced  mother  of  Srul  passed 
unscrutinized,  and  even  the  dread  clerk  at  the  desk 
who  asked  questions  was  content  with  their  oath  that 
the  wealthy  Srul  would  support  them.  Srul  was, 
indeed,  sent  for  at  once,  as  Tsirrele  was  too  pretty 
to  be  let  out  under  the  mere  protection  of  a  Polish 
crone. 

When  the  full  truth  that  neither  she  nor  Biela  was 
to  set  foot  in  New  York  burst  through  the  daze  in 
Leah's  brain,  her  protest  grew  frantic. 

"  But  my  sister  has  nothing  the  matter  with  her  — 
nothing.  O  gnddiger  Herr,  have  pity.  The  Konigs- 
berg  doctor — the  great  doctor  —  told  me  I  had  no 
disease,  no  disease  at  all.  And  even  if  I  have,  my 
sister's  eyes  are  pure  as  the  sunshine.  Look,  mein 
Herr^  look  again.  See,"  and  she  held  up  Biela's  eye- 
lids and  passionately  kissed  the  wet  bewildered  eyes. 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  145 

"  She  is  to  be  married,  my  lamb  —  her  bridegroom 
awaits  her  on  the  wharf.  Send  me  back,  gnddiger 
Her?' ;  I  ought  not  to  have  come.  But  for  God's 
sake,  don't  keep  Biela  out,  don't."  She  wrung  her 
hands.  But  the  marriage  card  had  been  played  too 
often  in  that  hall  of  despairing  dodges.  "  Oh,  Herr 
Doktor,''  and  she  kissed  the  coat-tail  of  the  ship's 
doctor,  **  plead  for  us ;  speak  a  word  for  her." 

The  ship's  doctor  spoke  a  word  on  his  own  behalf. 
It  was  he  who  had  endorsed  the  two  girls'  health-cer- 
tificates at  Hamburg,  and  he  would  be  blamed  by  the 
Steamship  Company,  which  would  have  to  ship  the 
sisters  back  free,  and  even  defray  their  expenses 
while  in  quarantine  at  the  depot.  He  ridiculed  the 
idea  that  the  girls  were  suffering  from  anything  con- 
tagious.    But  the  native  doctor  frowned,  immovable. 

Leah  grew  hysteric.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  had  lost  her  sane  standpoint.  *'  Your  own  eye 
is  affected,"  she  shrieked,  her  dark  pock-marked  face 
almost  black  with  desperate  anger,  "if  you  cannot 
see  that  it  is  only  because  my  sister  has  been  weep- 
ing, because  she  is  ill  from  the  voyage.  But  she 
carries  no  infection  —  she  is  healthy  as  an  ox,  and 
her  eye  is  the  eye  of  an  eagle !  "  She  was  ordered 
to  be  silent,  but  she  shrieked  angrily,  "  The  German 
doctors  know,  but  the  Americans  have  no  Bildungy 

"  Oh,  don't,  Leah,"  moaned  Biela,  throwing  her 
arms  round  the  panting  breast.  "  What's  the  use  }  " 
But  the  irrepressible    Leah  got  an  S.   I.  ticket   of 


146  THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE 

Special  Inquiry,  forced  a  hearing  in  the  Commis- 
sioners' Court. 

"  Let  her  in,  kind  gentlemen,  and  send  back  the 
other  one.  Tsirrele  will  go  back  with  me.  It  does 
not  matter  about  the  little  one." 

The  kind  gentlemen  on  the  bench  were  really  kind, 
but  America  must  be  protected. 

"  You  can  take  the  young  one  and  the  old  one  both 
back  with  you,"  the  interpreter  told  her.  "  But  they 
are  the  only  ones  we  can  let  in." 

Leah  and  Biela  were  driven  back  among  the  damned. 
The  favoured  twain  stood  helplessly  in  their  happier 
compartment.  Even  Tsirrele,  the  squirrel,  was 
dazed.  Presently  the  spruce  Srul  arrived  —  to  find 
the  expected  raptures  replaced  by  funereal  misery. 
He  wormed  his  way  dizzily  into  the  cage  of  the 
rejected.  It  was  not  the  etiquette  of  the  Pale  to  kiss 
one's  betrothed  bride,  but  Srul  stared  dully  at  Biela 
without  even  touching  her  hand,  as  if  the  Atlantic 
already  rolled  again  between  them.  Here  was  a 
pretty  climax  to  the  dreams  of  years ! 

"  My  poor  Srul,  we  must  go  back  to  Hamburg  to 
be  married,"  faltered  Biela. 

"And  give  up  my  store.?"  Srul  wailed.  "Here 
the  dollar  spins  round.  We  have  now  what  one 
names  a  boom.  There  is  no  land  on  earth  Hke 
ours." 

The  forlornness  of  the  others  stung  Leah  to  her 
senses. 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  147 

"  Listen,  Srul,"  she  said  hurriedly.  **  It  is  all  my 
fault,  because  I  wanted  to  share  in  the  happiness.  I 
ought  not  to  have  come.  If  we  had  not  been  to- 
gether they  never  would  have  suspected  Biela's  eyes 
—  who  would  notice  the  little  touch  of  inflammation 
which  is  the  most  she  has  ever  suffered  from  }  She 
shall  come  again  in  another  ship,  all  alone  —  for  she 
knows  now  how  to  travel.  Is  it  not  so,  Biela,  my 
lamb  }  I  will  see  you  on  board,  and  Srul  will  meet 
you  here,  although  not  till  you  have  passed  the 
doctor,  so  that  no  one  will  have  a  chance  of  remem- 
bering you.  It  will  cost  a  heap,  alas !  but  I  can  get 
some  work  in  Hamburg,  and  the  Jews  there  have 
hearts  of  gold.     Eh,  Biela,  my  poor  lamb  t " 

"Yes,  yes,  Leah,  you  can  always  give  yourself  a 
counsel,"  and  Biela  put  her  wet  face  to  her  sister's, 
and  kissed  the  pock-marked  cheek. 

Srul  acquiesced  eagerly.  No  one  remembered  for 
the  moment  that  Leah  would  be  left  alone  in  the 
Old  World.  The  problem  of  effecting  the  bride's 
entry  blocked  all  the  horizon. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Srul.  "The  mother  will  look 
after  Tsirrele,  and  in  less  than  three  weeks  Biela  will 
slip  in." 

"  No,  three  weeks  is  too  soon,"  said  Leah.  "  We 
must  wait  a  little  longer  till  the  doctor  forgets." 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  already  waited  so  long ! "  whim- 
pered Srul. 

Leah's   eyes   filled   with   sympathetic   tears.      "I 


148  THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE 

ought  not  to  have  made  so  much  fuss.  Now  she 
will  stick  in  the  doctor's  mind.  Forgive  me,  dear 
Srul,  I  will  do  my  best  and  try  to  make  amends." 

Leah  and  Biela  were  taken  away  to  the  hospital, 
where  they  remained  isolated  from  the  world  till  the 
steamer  sailed  back  to  Hamburg.  Herein,  generously 
lodged,  they  had  ample  leisure  to  review  the  situa- 
tion. Biela  discovered  that  the  new  plan  would  leave 
Leah  deserted,  Leah  remembered  that  she  would 
be  deserting  little  Tsirrele.  Both  were  agreed  that 
Tsirrele  must  go  back  with  them,  till  they  bethought 
themselves  that  her  passage  would  have  to  be  paid 
for,  as  she  was  not  refused.  And  every  kopeck  was 
precious  now.  "  Let  the  child  stay  till  I  get  back," 
said  Biela.     "  Then  I  will  send  her  to  you." 

"  Yes,  it  is  best  to  let  her  stay  awhile.  I  myself 
may  be  able  to  join  you  after  all.  I  will  go  back  to 
Konigsberg,  and  the  great  doctor  will  write  me  out 
a  certificate  that  my  affliction  is  not  contagious." 

At  the  very  worst  —  if  even  Biela  could  not  get 
in  —  Srul  should  sell  his  store  and  come  back  to  the 
Old  World.  It  would  put  off  the  marriage  again. 
But  they  had  waited  so  long.  "  So  let  us  cheer  up 
after  all,  and  thank  the  Lord  for  His  mercies.  We 
might  all  have  been  drowned  on  the  voyage." 

Thus  the  sisters'  pious  conclusion. 

But  though  Srul  and  his  mother  and  Tsirrele  got 
on  board  to  see  them  off,  and  Tsirrele  gave  graphic 
accounts  of  the  wonders  of  the  store  and  the  rooms 


THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE  149 

prepared  for  the  bride,  to  say  nothing  of  the  great 
city  itself,  and  Srul  brought  Biela  and  Leah  splendid 
specimens  of  his  stock  for  their  adornment,  yet  it 
was  a  horrible  thing  for  them  to  go  back  again  with- 
out having  once  trodden  the  sidewalks  of  the  Land 
of  Promise.  And  when  the  others  were  tolled  off, 
as  by  a  funeral  bell,  and  became  specks  in  a  swaying 
crowd ;  when  the  dock  receded  and  the  cheers  and 
good-byes  faded,  and  the  waving  handkerchiefs  be- 
came a  blur,  and  the  Statue  of  Liberty  dwindled,  and 
the  lone  waste  of  waters  faced  them  once  more, 
Leah's  optimism  gave  way,  a  chill  sinister  shadow 
fell  across  her  new  plan,  some  ominous  intuition 
traversed  her  like  a  shudder,  and  she  turned  away 
lest  Biela  should  see  her  tears. 

VII 

This  despair  did  not  last  long.  It  was  not  in 
Leah's  nature  to  despair.  But  her  wildest  hopes 
were  exceeded  when  she  set  foot  again  in  Hamburg 
and  explained  her  hard  case  to  the  good  committee^ 
and  a  member  gave  her  an  informal  hint  which  was 
like  a  flash  of  light  from  Heaven  —  its  answer  to  her 
ceaseless  prayer.  Ellis  Island  was  not  the  only  way 
of  approaching  the  Land  of  Promise.  You  could 
go  round  about  through  Canada,  where  they  were 
not  so  particular,  and  you  could  slip  in  by  rail  from 
Montreal  without  attracting  much  attention.  True, 
there  was  the  extra  expense. 


150  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

Expense !  Leah  would  have  gladly  parted  with 
her  last  rouble  to  uciite  Biela  with  her  bridegroom. 
There  must  be  no  delay.  A  steamer  for  Canada 
was  waiting  to  sail.  What  a  fool  she  had  been  not 
to  think  that  out  for  herself!  Yes,  but  there  was 
Biela's  timidity  again  to  consider.  Travel  by  herself 
through  this  unknown  Canada !  And  then  if  they 
were  not  so  particular,  why  could  not  Leah  slip 
through  likewise } 

"  Yes,  but  my  eyes  are  more  noticeable.  I  might 
again  do  you  an  injury." 

"We  will  separate  at  the  landing-stage  and  the 
frontier.  We  will  pretend  to  be  strangers."  Biela's 
wits  were  sharpened  by  the  crisis. 

"Well,  I  can  only  lose  the  passage-money,"  said 
Leah,  and  resolved  to  take  the  risk.  She  wrote  a 
letter  to  Srul  explaining  the  daring  invasion  of  New 
York  overland  which  they  were  to  attempt,  and  was 
about  to  post  it,  when  Biela  said :  — 

"  Poor  Srul !  And  if  I  shall  not  get  in  after  all !  " 
Leah's  face  fell. 

"  True,"  she  pondered.  "  He  will  have  a  more 
heart-breaking  disappointment  than  before." 

"  Let  us  not  kindle  their  hopes.  After  all,  if  we 
get  in,  we  shall  only  be  a  few  days  later  than  our 
letter.     And  then  think  of  the  joy  of  the  surprise." 

"  You  are  right,  Biela,"  and  Leah's  face  glowed 
again  with  the  anticipated  joy  of  the  surprise. 

The  journey  to   Canada  was  longer  than  to  the 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  151 

States,  and  the  "freight"  was  less  companionable. 
There  were  fewer  Jews  and  women,  more  stalwart 
shepherds,  miners,  and  dock-labourers.  When  after 
eleven  days,  land  came,  it  was  not  touched  at,  but 
only  remained  cheeringly  on  the  horizon  for  the  rest 
of  the  voyage.  At  last  the  sisters  found  themselves 
unmolested  on  one  of  the  many  wharves  of  Montreal. 
But  they  would  not  linger  a  day  in  this  unhomely 
city.  The  next  morning  saw  them,  dazed  and  worn 
out  but  happy-hearted,  dodging  the  monstrous  cata- 
pults of  the  New  York  motor-cars,  while  a  Polish 
porter  helped  them  with  their  bundles  and  convoyed 
them  toward  Srul's  store.  Ah,  what  ecstasy  to  be 
unregarded  units  of  this  free  chaotic  crowd.  Out- 
side the  store  —  what  a  wonderful  store  it  was, 
larger  than  the  largest  in  the  weavers'  colony  !  —  the 
sisters  paused  a  moment  to  roll  the  coming  bUss  under 
their  tongues.  They  peeped  in.  Ah,  there  is  Srul 
behind  the  counter,  waiting  for  customers.  Ah,  ah, 
he  little  knows  what  customers  are  waiting  for  him ! 
They  turned  and  kissed  each  other  for  mere  joy. 

"  Draw  your  shawl  over  your  face,"  whispered 
Leah  merrily.  "  Go  in  and  ask  him  if  he  has  a 
wedding-veil."  Biela  slipped  in,  brimming  over  with 
mischief  and  tears. 

"Yes,  Miss.?"  said  Srul,  with  his  smartest  store 
manner. 

"  I  want  a  wedding-veil  of  white  lace,"  she  said  in 
Yiddish.     At   her   voice   Srul   started.     Biela  could 


152  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

keep  up  the  joke  no  longer.  "Srul,  my  darling 
Srul!"  she  cried  hysterically,  her  arms  yearning  to 
reach  him  across  the  counter. 

He  drew  back,  pale,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  ones  !  "  blubbered  Leah,  rushing  in. 
"  God  has  been  good  to  you,  after  all." 

"  But  —  but  —  how  did  you  get  in } "  he  cried, 
staring. 

"  Never  mind  how  we  got  in,"  said  Leah,  every 
pock-mark  glistening  with  smiles  and  tears.  "  And 
where  is  Tsirr^l^  —  my  dear  little  Tsirr^l6  .?  " 

"  She  —  she  is  out  marketing,  with  the  mother." 

"  And  the  mother  t  " 

"  She  is  well  and  happy." 

"Thank  God  !  "  said  Leah  fervently, and  beckoned 
the  porter  with  the  bundles. 

'*  But  —  but  I  let  the  room,"  he  said,  flushing.  "  I 
did  not  know  that  —  I  could  not  afford  —  " 

"  Never  mind,  we  will  find  a  room.  The  day  is 
yet  high."     She  settled  with  the  porter. 

Meantime  Srul  had  begun  playing  nervously  with 
a  pair  of  scissors.  He  snipped  a  gorgeous  piece  of 
stuff  to  fragments. 

"  What  are  you  doing } "  said  Biela  at  last. 

'*0h  —  I — ^"  he  burst  into  a  nervous  laugh. 
"  And  so  you  ran  the  blockade  after  all.  But — but  I 
expect  customers  every  minute  —  we  can't  talk  now. 
Go  inside  and  rest,  Biela :  you  will  find  a  sofa  in  the 
parlour.     Leah,  I  want — I  want  to  talk  to  you." 


THE  LAND   OF  PROMISE  .        153 

Leah  flashed  a  swift  glance  at  him  as  Biela,  vaguely 
chilled,  moved  through  the  back  door  into  the  reviv- 
ifying splendours  of  the  parlour. 

"  Something  is  wrong,  Srul,"  Leah  said  hoarsely. 
"  Tsirrele  is  not  here.     You  feared  to  tell  us." 

He  hung  his  head.     "  I  did  my  best." 

"  She  is  ill  —  dead,  perhaps !  My  beautiful 
angel !  " 

He  opened  his  eyes.     "  Dead  "*.     No.     Married  !  " 

"What!     To  whom.?" 

He  turned  a  sickly  white.     "Tome." 

In  all  that  long  quest  of  the  canopy,  Leah  had 
never  come  so  near  fainting  as  now.  The  horror  of 
Ellis  Island  was  nothing  to  this.  That  scene  resurged, 
and  Tsirr^le's  fresh  beauty,  unflecked  by  the  voyage, 
came  up  luridly  before  her;  the  "baby,"  whom  the 
unnoted  years  had  made  a  young  woman  of  fifteen, 
while  they  had  been  aging  and  staling  Biela. 

"But  —  but  this  will  break  Biela's  heart,"  she 
whispered,  heart-broken. 

"  How  was  I  to  know  Biela  would  ever  get  in  .? "  he 
said,  trying  to  be  angry.  "  Was  I  to  remain  a 
bachelor  all  my  life,  breaking  the  Almighty's  ordi- 
nance ?  Did  I  not  wait  and  wait  faithfully  for  Biela 
all  those  years  t  " 

"You  could  have  migrated  elsewhere,"  she  said 
faintly. 

"And  ruin  my  connection  —  and  starve.?"  His 
anger  was  real  by  now.     "  Besides  I  have  married 


154       .  THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE 

into  the  family  —  it  is  almost  the  same  thing.  And 
the  old  mother  is  just  as  pleased." 

"  Oh,  she ! "  and  all  the  endured  bitterness  of  the 
long  years  was  in  the  exclamation.  "All  she  wants 
is  grandchildren." 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  he  retorted.  "  Grandchildren  with 
good  eyes." 

"  God  forgive  you,"  was  all  the  lump  in  Leah's 
throat  allowed  her  to  reply.  She  steadied  herself 
with  a  hand  on  the  counter,  striving  to  repossess  her 
soul  for  Biela's  sake. 

A  customer  came  in,  and  the  tragic  universe 
dwindled  to  a  prosaic  place  in  which  ribbons  existed 
in  unsatisfactory  shades. 

"  Of  course  we  must  go  this  minute,"  Leah  said,  as 
Srul  clanked  the  coins  into  the  till.  "  Biela  cannot 
ever  live  here  with  you  now." 

"  Yes,  it  is  better  so,"  he  assented  sulkily.  "  Be- 
sides, you  may  as  well  know  at  once.  I  keep  open 
on  the  Sabbath,  and  that  would  not  have  pleased 
Biela.  That  is  another  reason  why  it  was  best  not  to 
marry  Biela.     Tsirrele  doesn't  seem  to  mind." 

The  very  ruins  of  her  world  seemed  toppling  now. 
But  this  new  revelation  of  Tsirrele's  and  his  own 
wickedness  seemed  only  of  a  piece  with  the  first  —  in- 
deed, went  far  to  account  for  it. 

"You  break  the  Sabbath,  after  all! " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "We  are  not  in 
Poland  any  longer.     No  dead  flies  here.     Everybody 


THE  LAND    OF  PROMISE  156 

does  it.  Shut  the  store  two  days  a  week  !  I  should 
get  left." 

**  And  you  bring  your  mother's  gray  hairs  down 
with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

"  My  mother's  gray  hairs  are  no  longer  hidden  by 
a  stupid  black  Shaitel.  That  is  all.  I  have  ex- 
plained to  her  that  America  is  the  land  of  enlighten- 
ment and  freedom.     Her  eyes  are  opened." 

"I  trust  to  God,  your  father's  —  peace  be  upon 
him  !  —  are  still  shut !  "  said  Leah  as  she  walked 
with  slow  steady  steps  into  the  parlour,  to  bear  off 
her  wounded  lamb. 


V 

TO   DIE    IN   JERUSALEM 


TO   DIE    IN   JERUSALEM 


The  older  Isaac  Levinsky  grew,  and  the  more  he  saw 
of  the  world  after  business  hours,  the  more  ashamed  he 
grew  of  the  Russian  Rabbi  whom  Heaven  had  curi- 
ously chosen  for  his  father.  At  first  it  seemed  natural 
enough  to  shout  and  dance  prayers  in  the  stuffy  little 
Spitalfields  synagogue,  and  to  receive  reflected  glory  as 
the  son  and  heir  of  the  illustrious  Maggid  (preacher) 
whose  four  hour  expositions  of  Scripture  drew  even 
West  End  pietists  under  the  spell  of  their  celestial 
crookedness.  But  early  in  Isaac's  English  school-life 
—  for  cocksure  philanthropists  dragged  the  younger 
generation  to  angUcization  —  he  discovered  that  other 
fathers  did  not  make  themselves  ridiculously  notice- 
able by  retaining  the  gabardine,  the  fur  cap,  and  the 
ear-locks  of  Eastern  Europe :  nay,  that  a  few  —  O, 
enviable  sons  ! —  could  scarcely  be  distinguished  from 
the  teachers  themselves. 

When  the  guardian  angels  of  the  Ghetto  appren- 
ticed him,  in  view  of  his  talent  for  drawing,  to  a  litho- 
graphic printer,  he  suffered  agonies  at  the  thought  of 
his  grotesque  parent  coming  to  sign  the  indentures. 

159 


160  TO   DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

"  You  might  put  on  a  coat  to-morrow,"  he  begged 
in  Yiddish. 

The  Maggid's  long  black  beard  lifted  itself  slowly 
from  the  worm-eaten  folio  of  the  Babylonian  Talmud, 
in  which  he  was  studying  the  tractate  anent  the  pay- 
ment of  the  half-shekel  head-tax  in  ancient  Palestine. 
"  If  he  took  the  money  from  the  second  tithes  or  from 
the  Sabbatical  year  fruit,"  he  was  humming  in  his 
quaint  sing-song,  "  he  must  eat  the  full  value  of  the 
same  in  the  city  of  Jerusalem."  As  he  encountered 
his  boy's  querulous  face  his  dream  city  vanished,  the 
glittering  temple  of  Solomon  crumbled  to  dust,  and 
he  remembered  he  was  in  exile. 

"  Put  on  a  coat .?  "  he  repeated  gently.  "  Nay,  thou 
knowest  'tis  against  our  holy  religion  to  appear  like 
the  heathen.  I  emigrated  to  England  to  be  free  to 
wear  the  Jewish  dress,  and  God  hath  not  failed  to 
bless  me." 

Isaac  suppressed  a  precocious  "  Damn  !  "  He  had 
often  heard  the  story  of  how  the  cruel  Czar  Nicholas 
had  tried  to  make  his  Jews  dress  like  Christians,  so  as 
insidiously  to  assimilate  them  away  ;  how  the  police 
had  even  pulled  off  the  unsightly  cloth-coverings  of 
the  shaven  polls  of  the  married  women,  to  the  secret 
delight  of  the  pretty  ones,  who  then  let  their  hair  grow 
in  godless  charm.  And,  mixed  up  with  this  story, 
were  vaguer  legends  of  raw  recruits  forced  by  their 
sergeants  to  kneel  on  little  broken  stones  till  they  per- 
ceived the  superiority  of  Christianity 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  161 

How  the  Maggid  would  have  been  stricken  to  the 
heart  to  know  that  Isaac  now  heard  these  legends 
with  inverted  sympathies ! 

"  The  blind  fools  !  "  thought  the  boy,  with  ever 
growing  bitterness.  "  To  fancy  that  religion  can  lie 
in  clothes,  almost  as  if  it  was  something  you  could 
carry  in  your  pockets !  But  that's  where  most  of  their 
religion  does  lie  —  in  their  pocket."  And  he  shud- 
dered with  a  vision  of  greasy,  huckstering  fanatics. 
"  And  just  imagine  if  I  was  sweet  on  a  girl,  having  to 
see  all  her  pretty  hair  cut  off!  As  for  those  recruits, 
it  served  them  right  for  not  turning  Christians.  As 
if  Judaism  was  any  truer !  And  the  old  man  never 
thinks  of  how  he  is  torturing  me  —  all  the  sharp  little 
stones  he  makes  me  kneel  on."  And,  looking  into  the 
future  with  the  ambitious  eye  of  conscious  cleverness, 
he  saw  the  paternal  gabardine  over-glooming  his  life. 

II 

One  Friday  evening  —  after  Isaac  had  completed 
his  'prentice  years — there  was  anxiety  in  the  Maggid's 
household  in  lieu  of  the  Sabbath  peace.  Isaac's  seat 
at  the  board  was  vacant.  The  twisted  loaves  seemed 
without  salt,  the  wine  of  the  consecration  cup  with- 
out  savour. 

The  mother  was  full  of  ominous  explanations. 

"  Perturb  not  the  Sabbath,"  reproved  the  gabar- 
dined  saint  gently,  and  quoted  the  Talmud :   " '  No 


162  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

man  has  a  finger  maimed  but  'tis  decreed  from 
above." 

"Isaac  has  gone  to  supper  somewhere  else,"  sug- 
gested his  Httle  sister,  Miriam. 

"  Children  and  fools  speak  the  truth,"  said  the 
Maggid,  pinching  her  cheek. 

But  they  had  to  go  to  bed  without  seeing  him,  as 
though  this  were  only  a  profane  evening,  and  he 
amusing  himself  with  the  vague  friends  of  his  litho- 
graphic life.  They  waited  till  the  candles  flared  out, 
and  there  seemed  something  symbolic  in  the  gloom 
in  which  they  groped  their  way  upstairs.  They 
were  all  shivering,  too,  for  the  fire  had  become  gray 
ashes  long  since,  the  Sabbath  Fire-Woman  having 
made  her  last  round  at  nine  o'clock  and  they  them- 
selves being  forbidden  to  touch  even  a  candlestick  or 
a  poker. 

The  sunrise  revealed  to  the  unclosed  eyes  of  the 
mother  that  her  boy's  bed  was  empty.  It  also 
showed  —  what  she  might  have  discovered  the  night 
before  had  religion  permitted  her  to  enter  his  room 
with  a  light  —  that  the  room  was  empty,  too:  empty 
of  his  scattered  belongings,  of  his  books  and 
sketches. 

"  God  in  Heaven  !  "  she  cried. 

Her  boy  had  run  away. 

She  began  to  wring  her  hands  and  wail  with 
oriental  amplitude,  and  would  have  torn  her  hair 
had  it  not   been   piously  replaced   by    a  black  wig, 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  163 

neatly  parted  in  the  middle  and  now  grotesquely- 
placid  amid  her  agonized  agitation. 

The  Maggid  preserved  more  outward  calm.  "  Per- 
haps we  shall  find  him  in  synagogue,"  he  said, 
trembling. 

"  He  has  gone  away,  he  will  never  come  back. 
Woe  is  me  !  " 

*'  He  has  never  missed  the  Sabbath  service !  "  the 
Maggid  urged.  But  inwardly  his  heart  was  sick 
with  the  fear  that  she  prophesied  truly.  This  Eng- 
land, which  had  seduced  many  of  his  own  congre- 
gants to  Christian  costume,  had  often  seemed  to  him 
to  be  stealing  away  his  son,  though  he  had  never  let 
himself  dwell  upon  the  dread.  His  sermon  that 
morning  was  acutely  exegetical :  with  no  more  rela- 
tion to  his  own  trouble  than  to  the  rest  of  contem- 
porary reality.  His  soul  dwelt  in  old  Jerusalem,  and 
dreamed  of  Israel's  return  thither  in  some  vague 
millennium.  When  he  got  home  he  found  that  the 
postman  had  left  a  letter.  His  wife  hastened  to 
snatch  it. 

''What  dost  thou.?  "  he  cried.  "  Not  to-day.  When 
Sabbath  is  out." 

"  I  cannot  wait.  It  is  from  him  —  it  is  from 
Isaac." 

"  Wait  at  least  till  the  Fire- Woman  comes  to  open 
it." 

For  answer  the  mother  tore  open  the  envelope. 
It  was  the  boldest  act  of  her  life  —  her  first  breach 


164  TO  DIE   IN  JERUSALEM 

with  the  traditions.  The  Rabbi  stood  paralyzed  by 
it,  listening,  as  without  conscious  will,  to  her  sobbing 
delivery  of  its  contents. 

The  letter  was  in  Hebrew  (for  neither  parent 
could  read  English),  and  commenced  abruptly,  with- 
out date,  address,  or  affectionate  formality.  "This 
is  the  last  time  I  shall  write  the  holy  tongue.  My 
soul  is  wearied  to  death  of  Jews,  a  blind  and  ungrate- 
ful people,  who  linger  on  when  the  world  no  longer 
hath  need  of  them,  without  country  of  their  own, 
nor  will  they  enter  into  the  blood  of  the  countries 
that  stretch  out  their  hands  to  them.  Seek  not  to 
find  me,  for  I  go  to  a  new  world.  Blot  out  my  name 
even  as  I  shall  blot  out  yours.  Let  it  be  as  though 
I  was  never  begotten." 

The  mother  dropped  the  letter  and  began  to 
scream  hysterically.  "  I  who  bore  him  !  I  who  bore 
him  ! " 

"  Hold  thy  peace ! "  said  the  father,  his  limbs 
shaking  but  his  voice  firm.  "He  is  dead.  *The 
Lord  giveth  and  the  Lord  taketh  away.  Blessed  be 
the  name  of  the  Lord.'  To-night  we  will  begin  to 
sit  the  seven  days'  mourning.  But  to-day  is  the 
Sabbath." 

"  My  Sabbath  is  over  for  aye.  Thou  hast  driven 
my  boy  away  with  thy  long  prayers." 

"Nay,  God  hath  taken  him  away  for  thy  sins, 
thou  godless  Sabbath-breaker !  Peace  while  I  make 
the  Consecration." 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  165 

**  My  Isaac,  my  only  son  !  We  shall  say  Kaddish 
(mourning-prayer)  for  him,  but  who  will  say  Kaddish 
for  us  ? " 

"  Peace  while  I  make  the  Consecration  !  " 
He  got  through  with   the   prayer  over  the  wine, 
but  his  breakfast  remained  untasted. 


Ill 

Re-reading  the  letter,  the  poor  parents  agreed  that 
the  worst  had  happened.  The  allusions  to  "blood  " 
and  "the  new  world"  seemed  unmistakable.  Isaac 
had  fallen  under  the  spell  of  a  beautiful  heathen 
female ;  he  was  marrying  her  in  a  church  and  emi- 
grating with  her  to  America.  Willy-nilly,  they  must 
blot  him  out  of  their  lives. 

And  so  the  years  went  by,  over-brooded  by  this 
shadow  of  living  death.  The  only  gleam  of  happi- 
ness came  when  Miriam  was  wooed  and  led  under  the 
canopy  by  the  President  of  the  congregation,  who 
sold  haberdashery.  True,  he  spoke  English  well  and 
dressed  like  a  clerk,  but  in  these  degenerate  days 
one  must  be  thankful  to  get  a  son-in-law  who  shuts 
his  shop  on  the  Sabbath. 

One  evening,  some  ten  years  after  Isaac's  dis- 
appearance, Miriam  sat  reading  the  weekly  paper  — 
which  alone  connected  her  with  the  world  and  the 
fulness  thereof  —  when  she  gave  a  sudden  cry. 

"What  is  it."* "  said  the  haberdasher. 


166  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

"  Nothing  —  I  thought  —  "  And  she  stared  again 
at  the  rough  cut  of  a  head  embedded  in  the  reading 
matter. 

But  no,  it  could  not  be  ! 

"  Mr.  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst,  whose  versatile 
talents  have  brought  him  such  social  popularity,  is 
rumoured  to  have  budded  out  in  a  new  direction. 
He  is  said  to  be  writing  a  comedy  for  Mrs.  Donald 
O'Neill,  who,  it  will  be  remembered,  sat  to  him 
recently  for  the  portrait  now  on  view  at  the  Azure 
Art  Club.  The  dashing  comedienne  will,  it  is  stated, 
produce  the  play  in  the  autumn  season.  Mr.  Wynd- 
hurst's  smart  sayings  have  often  passed  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  but  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  he  can 
make  them  come  naturally  from  the  mouths  of  his 
characters." 

What  had  these  far-away  splendours  to  do  with 
Isaac  Levinsky  t  With  Isaac  and  his  heathen  female 
across  the  Atlantic } 

And  yet  —  and  yet  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst  was 
like  Isaac — that  characteristic  curve  of  the  nose, 
those  thick  eyebrows !  And  perhaps  Isaac  had 
worked  himself  up  into  a  portrait-painter.  Why 
not }  Did  not  his  old  sketch  of  herself  give  distinc- 
tion to  her  parlour.!*  Her  heart  swelled  proudly  at 
the  idea.  But  no !  more  probably  the  face  in  print 
was  roughly  drawn  —  was  only  accidentally  like  her 
brother.     She  sighed  and  dropped  the  paper. 

But  she  could  not  drop  the  thought.     It  clung  to 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  167 

her,  wistful  and  demanding  satisfaction.  The  name 
of  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst,  whenever  it  appeared  in 
the  paper  —  and  it  was  surprising  how  often  she 
saw  it  now,  though  she  had  never  noticed  it  before  — 
made  her  heart  beat  with  the  prospect  of  clews. 
She  bought  other  papers,  merely  in  the  hope  of  see- 
ing it,  and  was  not  unfrequently  rewarded.  Involun- 
tarily, her  imagination  built  up  a  picture  of  a  brilliant 
romantic  career  that  only  needed  to  be  signed 
**  Isaac."  She  began  to  read  theatrical  and  society 
journals  on  the  sly,  and  developed  a  hidden  life  of 
imaginative  participation  in  fashionable  gatherings. 
And  from  all  this  mass  of  print  the  name  Ethelred 
P.  Wyndhurst  disengaged  itself  with  lurid  brilliancy. 
The  rumours  of  his  comedy  thickened.  It  was 
christened  The  Shis  of  Society.  It  was  to  be  put 
on  soon.  It  was  not  written  yet.  Another  manager 
had  bid  for  it.  It  was  already  in  rehearsal.  It  was 
called  The  Bohemian  Boy.  It  would  not  come  on 
this  season.  Miriam  followed  feverishly  its  contra- 
dictory career.  And  one  day  there  was  a  large 
picture  of  Isaac !  Isaac  to  the  life !  She  soared 
skywards.  But  it  adorned  an  interview,  and  the 
interview  dropped  her  from  the  clouds.  Ethelred 
was  born  in  Brazil  of  an  English  engineer  and  a 
Spanish  beauty,  who  performed  brilliantly  on  the 
violin.  He  had  shot  big  game  in  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, and  studied  painting  in  Rome. 

The  image  of   her  mother   playing   the  violin,  in 


168  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

her  preternatural ly  placid  wig,  brought  a  bitter 
smile  to  Miriam's  lips.  And  yet  it  was  hard  to  give 
up  Ethelred  now.  It  seemed  like  losing  Isaac  a 
second  time.  And  presently  she  reflected  shrewdly 
that  the  wig  and  the  gabardine  wouldn't  have  shown 
up  well  in  print,  that  indeed  Isaac  in  his  farewell 
letter  had  formally  renounced  them,  and  it  was 
therefore  open  to  him  to  invent  new  parental  acces- 
sories. Of  course  —  fool  that  she  was !  —  how  could 
Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst  acknowledge  the  same  child- 
hood as  Isaac  Levinsky !  Yes,  it  might  still  be  her 
Isaac. 

Well,  she  would  set  the  doubt  at  rest.  She  knew, 
from  the  wide  reading  to  which  Ethelred  had  stimu- 
lated her,  that  authors  appeared  before  the  curtain 
on  first  nights.  She  would  go  to  the  first  night  of 
The  Whirligig  (that  was  the  final  name),  and  win 
either  joy  or  mental  rest. 

She  made  her  expedition  to  the  West  End  on 
the  pretext  of  a  sick  friend  in  Bow,  and  waited 
many  hours  to  gain  a  good  point  of  view  in  the 
first  row  of  the  gallery,  being  too  economical  to 
risk  more  than  a  shilling  on  the  possibility  of  re- 
lationship to  the  dramatist. 

As  the  play  progressed,  her  heart  sank.  Though 
she  understood  little  of  the  conversational  para- 
doxes, it  seemed  to  her  —  now  she  saw  with  her 
physical  eye  this  brilliant  Belgravian  world,  in  the 
stalls  as  well   as  on  the  stage  —  that  it  was  impos- 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  169 

sible  her  Isaac  could  be  of  it,  still  less  that  it  could 
be  Isaac's  spirit  which  marshalled  so  masterfully 
these  fashionable  personages  through  dazzling  draw- 
ing-rooms ;  and  an  undercurrent  of  satire  against 
Jews  who  tried  to  get  into  society  by  bribing  the 
fashionables,  contributed  doubly  to  chill  her.  She 
shared  in  the  general  laughter,  but  her  laugh  was 
one  of  hysterical  excitement. 

But  when  at  last  amid  tumultuous  cries  of  *'  Au- 
thor ! "  Isaac  Levinsky  really  appeared,  —  Isaac, 
transformed  almost  to  a  fairy  prince,  as  noble  a 
figure  as  any  in  his  piece,  Isaac,  the  proved  master- 
spirit of  the  show,  the  unchallenged  treader  of  all 
these  radiant  circles,  —  then  all  Miriam's  effervescing 
emotion  found  vent  in  a  sobbing  cry  of  joy. 

*'  Isaac ! "  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  arms 
across  the  gallery  bar. 

But  her  cry  was  lost  in  the  applause  of  the  house. 

IV 

She  wrote  to  him,  care  of  the  theatre.  The  first 
envelope  she  had  to  tear  up  because  it  was  inad- 
vertently addressed  to  Isaac  Levinsky. 

Her  letter  was  a  gush  of  joy  at  finding  her  dear 
Isaac,  of  pride  in  his  wonderful  position.  Who 
would  have  dreamed  a  lithographer's  apprentice 
would  arrive  at  leading  the  fashions  among  the 
nobility  and  gentry  .'*     But  she  had  always  believed 


170  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

in  his  talents ;  she  had  always  treasured  the  water- 
colour  he  had  made  of  her,  and  it  hung  in  the  par- 
lour behind  the  haberdasher's  shop  into  which  she 
had  married.  He,  too,  was  married,  they  had 
imagined,  and  gone  to  America.  But  perhaps  he 
was  married,  although  in  England.  Would  he  not 
tell  her  t  Of  course,  his  parents  had  cast  him  out 
of  their  hearts,  though  she  had  heard  mother  call 
out  his  name  in  her  sleep.  But  she  herself  thought 
of  him  very  often,  and  perhaps  he  would  let  her 
come  to  see  him.  She  would  come  very  quietly 
when  the  grand  people  were  not  there,  nor  would 
she  ever  let  out  that  he  was  a  Jew,  or  not  born 
in  Brazil.  Father  was  still  pretty  strong,  thank 
God,  but  mother  was  rather  ailing.  Hoping  to  see 
him  soon,  she  remained  his  loving  Miriam. 

She  waited  eagerly  for  his  answer.  Day  followed 
day,  but  none  came. 

When  the  days  passed  into  weeks,  she  began  to 
lose  hope ;  but  it  was  not  till  The  W/iirligig,  which 
she  followed  in  the  advertisement  columns,  was 
taken  off  after  a  briefer  run  than  the  first  night 
seemed  to  augur,  that  she  felt  with  curious  con- 
clusiveness that  her  letter  would  go  unanswered. 
Perhaps  even  it  had  miscarried.  But  it  was  now 
not  difficult  to  hunt  out  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst's 
address,  and  she  wrote  him  anew. 

Still  the  same  wounding  silence.  After  the  lapse 
of  a  month,  she  understood  that  what  he  had  writ- 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  171 

ten  in  Hebrew  was  final;  that  he  had  cut  himself 
free  once  and  forever  from  the  swaddling  coils 
of  gabardine,  and  would  not  be  dragged  back  even 
within  touch  of  its  hem.  She  wept  over  her  sec- 
ond loss  of  him,  but  the  persistent  thought  of  him 
had  brought  back  many  tender  childish  images,  and 
it  seemed  incredible  that  she  would  never  really 
creep  into  his  life  again.  He  had  permanently  en- 
larged her  horizon,  and  she  continued  to  follow  his 
career  in  the  papers,  worshipping  it  as  it  loomed 
grandiose  through  her  haze  of  ignorance.  Gradu- 
ally she  began  to  boast  of  it  in  her  more  English 
circles,  and  so  in  course  of  time  it  became  known 
to  all  but  the  parents  that  the  lost  Isaac  was  a 
shining  light  in  high  heathendom,  and  a  vast  secret 
admiration  mingled  with  the  contempt  of  the  Ghetto 
for  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst. 


In  high  heathendom  a  vast  secret  contempt  min- 
gled with  the  admiration  for  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst. 
He  had,  it  is  true,  a  certain  vogue,  but  behind  his 
back  he  was  called  a  Jew.  He  did  not  deserve  the 
stigma  in  so  far  as  it  might  have  implied  financial 
prosperity.  His  numerous  talents  had  only  availed 
to  prevent  one  another  from  being  seriously  culti- 
vated. He  had  had  a  little  success  at  first  with  flam- 
boyant pictures,  badly  drawn,  and  well  paragraphed ; 


172  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

he  had  writtep  tender  verses  for  music,  and  made 
quiet  love  to  ugly  and  unhappy  society  ladies ;  he 
was  an  assiduous  first-nighter,  and  was  suspected  of 
writing  dramatic  criticisms,  even  of  his  own  comedy. 
And  in  that  undefined  social  segment  where  Ken- 
sington and  Bohemia  intersect,  he  was  a  familiar 
figure  (a  too  familiar  figure,  old  fogies  grumbled) 
with  an  unenviable  reputation  as  a  diner-out  —  for 
the  sake  of  the  dinner. 

Yet  some  of  the  people  who  called  him  "  sponge  " 
were  not  averse  from  imbibing  his  own  Hquids  when 
he  himself  played  the  gracious  host.  He  was  ap- 
pearing in  that  role  one  Sunday  evening  before  a 
motley  assembly  in  his  dramatically  furnished  studio, 
nay,  he  was  in  the  very  act  of  biting  into  a  sandwich 
scrupulously  compounded  with  ham,  when  a  tele- 
gram was  handed  to  him. 

*'  Another  of  those  blessed  actresses  crying  off," 
he  said.  '*  I  wonder  how  they  ever  manage  to  take 
up  their  cues  !  " 

Then  his  face  changed  as  he  hurriedly  crumpled 
up  the  pinkish  paper. 

"  Mother  is  dying.  No  hope.  She  cries  to  see 
you.  Have  told  her  you  are  in  London.  Father 
consents.     Come  at  once.  —  Miriam." 

He  put  the  crumpled  paper  to  the  gas  and  lit  a 
new  cigarette  with  it. 

"As  I  thought,"  he  said,  smiling.  "When  a 
woman  is  an  actress  as  well  as  a  woman — " 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  173 


VI 


After  his  wife  died  —  vainly  calling  for  her  Isaac 
—  the  old  Maggid  was  left  heart-broken.  It  was  as 
if  his  emotions  ran  in  obedient  harmony  with  the 
dictum  of  the  Talmud  :  "  Whoso  sees  his  first  wife's 
death  is  as  one  who  in  his  own  day  saw  the  Temple 
destroyed." 

What  was  there  for  him  in  life  now  but  the  ruins 
of  the  literal  Temple  t  He  must  die  soon,  and  the 
dream  that  had  always  haunted  the  background  of 
his  life  began  to  come  now  into  the  empty  fore- 
ground.    If  he  could  but  die  in  Jerusalem  ! 

There  was  nothing  of  consequence  for  him  to  do 
in  England.  His  Miriam  was  married  and  had  grown 
too  English  for  any  real  communion.  True,  his  con- 
gregation was  dear  to  him,  but  he  felt  his  powers 
waning :  other  Maggidim  were  arising  who  could 
speak  longer. 

To  see  and  kiss  the  sacred  soil,  to  fall  prostrate 
where  once  the  Temple  had  stood,  to  die  in  an  ecs- 
tasy that  was  already  Gan-Iden  (Paradise) — could 
life,  indeed,  hold  such  bliss  for  him,  life  that  had 
hitherto  proved  a  cup  of  such  bitters  t 

Life  was  not  worth  living,  he  agreed  with  his  long- 
vanished  brother-Rabbis  in  ancient  Babylon,  it  was 
only  a  burden  to  be  borne  nobly.  But  if  life  was  not 
worth  living,  death  —  in  Jerusalem — was  worth  dy- 
ing.     Jerusalem !    to   which    he   had    turned   three 


174  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

times  a  day  in  praying,  whose  name  was  written  on 
his  heart,  as  on  that  of  the  mediaeval  Spanish  singer, 
with  whom  he  cried  :  — 

"Who  will  make  to  me  wings  that  I  may  fly  ever  Eastward, 
Until  my  ruined  heart  shall  dwell  in  the  ruins  of  thee? 
Then  will  I  bend  my  face  to  thy  sacred  soil  and  hold  precious 
Thy  very  stones,  yea  e'en  to  thy  dust  shall  I  tender  be. 

"  Life  of  the  soul  is  the  air  of  thy  land,  and  myrrh  of  the  purest 
Each  grain  of  thy  dust,  thy  waters  sweetest  honey  of  the  comb. 
Joyous  my  soul  would  be,  could  I  even  naked  and  barefoot, 
Amid  the  holy  ruins  of  thine  ancient  Temple  roam, 
Where  the  Ark  was  shrined,  and  the  Cherubim  in  the  Oracle 
had  their  home." 

To  die  in  Jerusalem  !  —  that  were  success  in  life. 

Here  he  was  lonely.  In  Jerusalem  he  would  be 
surrounded  by  a  glorious  host.  Patriarchs,  prophets, 
kings,  priests,  rabbonim  —  they  all  hovered  lovingly 
over  its  desolation,  whispering  heavenly  words  of 
comfort. 

But  now  a  curious  difficulty  arose.  The  Maggid 
knew  from  correspondence  with  Jerusalem  Rabbis 
that  a  Russian  subject  would  have  great  difficulty  in 
slipping  in  at  Jaffa  or  Beyrout,  even  aided  by  bakh- 
shish. The  only  safe  way  was  to  enter  as  a  British 
subject.  Grotesque  irony  of  the  fates !  For  nigh 
half  a  century  the  old  man  had  lived  in  England  in 
his  gabardine,  and  now  that  he  was  departing  to  die  in 
gabardine  lands,  he  was  compelled  to  seek  naturaliza- 
tion as  a  voluntary  Englishman  !     He  was  even  com- 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  375 

pelled  to  account  mendaciously  for  his  sudden  desire 
to  identify  himself  with  John  Bull's  institutions  and 
patriotic  prejudices,  and  to  live  as  a  free-born  Eng- 
lishman. By  the  aid  of  a  rich  but  pious  West  End 
Jew,  who  had  sometimes  been  drawn  Eastwards  by 
the  Maggid's  exegetical  eloquence,  all  difficulties 
were  overcome.  Armed  with  a  passpbrt,  signed 
floridly  as  with  a  lion's  tail  rampant,  the  Maggid  — 
after  a  quasi-death-bed  blessing  to  Miriam  by  imposi- 
tion of  hands  from  the  railway-carriage  window  upon 
her  best  bonnet  —  was  whirled  away  toward  his  holy 
dying-place. 

VII 

Such  disappointment  as  often  befalls  the  visionary 
when  he  sees  the  land  of  his  dreams  was  spared  to 
the  Maggid,  who  remained  a  visionary  even  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  real ;  beholding  with  spiritual  eye  the  ref- 
use-laden alleys  and  the  rapacious  S^/z/^^^rrrrj- (beggars). 
He  lived  enswathed  as  with  heavenly  love,  waiting 
for  the  moment  of  transition  to  the  shining  World- 
To-Come,  and  his  supplications  at  the  Wailing  Wall 
for  the  restoration  of  Zion's  glory  had,  despite  their 
sympathetic  fervour,  the  peaceful  impersonality  of 
one  who  looks  forward  to  no  worldly  kingdom.  To 
outward  view  he  lived  —  in  the  rare  intervals  when 
he  was  not  at  a  synagogue  or  a  house-of-learning  — 
somewhere  up  a  dusky  staircase  in  a  bleak,  narrow 
court,  in  one  tiny  room  supplemented  by  a  kitchen  in 


176  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

the  shape  of  a  stove  on  the  landing,  itself  a  centre  of 
pilgrimage  to  Schnorrers  innumerable,  for  whom  the 
rich  English  Maggid  was  an  unexpected  windfall. 
Rich  and  English  were  synonymous  in  hungry  Jeru- 
salem, but  these  beggars'  notion  of  charity  was  so 
modest,  and  the  coin  of  the  realm  so  divisible,  that 
the  Maggid  managed  to  gratify  them  at  a  penny  a 
dozen.  At  uncertain  intervals  he  received  a  letter 
from  Miriam,  written  in  EngHsh.  The  daughter  had 
not  carried  on  the  learned  tradition  of  the  mother, 
and  so  the  Maggid  was  wont  to  have  recourse  to  the 
head  of  the  philanthropic  technical  school  for  the 
translation  of  her  news  into  Hebrew.  There  was, 
however,  not  much  of  interest;  Miriam's  world  had 
grown  too  alien :  she  could  scrape  together  little  to 
appeal  to  the  dying  man.  And  so  his  last  ties  with 
the  past  grew  frailer  and  frailer,  even  as  his  body 
grew  feebler  and  feebler,  until  at  last,  bent  with 
great  age  and  infirmity,  so  that  his  white  beard  swept 
the  stones,  he  tottered  about  the  sacred  city  like  an 
incarnation  of  its  holy  ruin.  He  seemed  like  one 
bent  over  the  verge  of  eternity,  peering  wistfully  into 
its  soundless  depths.  Surely  God  would  send  his 
Death-Angel  now. 

Then  one  day  a  letter  from  Miriam  wrenched  him 
back  violently  from  his  beatific  vision,  jerked  him 
back  to  that  other  eternity  of  the  dead  past. 

Isaac,  Isaac  had  come  home  !  Had  come  home  to 
find  desolation.     Had  then  sought  his  sister,  and  was 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  Vll 

now  being  nursed  by  her  through  his  dying  hours. 
His  life  had  come  to  utter  bankruptcy :  his  posses- 
sions—  by  a  cruel  coincidence  —  had  been  sold  up  at 
the  very  moment  that  the  doctors  announced  to  him 
that  he  was  a  doomed  man.  And  his  death-bed  was 
a  premature  hell  of  torture  and  remorse.  He  raved 
incessantly  for  his  father.  Would  he  not  annul  the 
curse,  grant  him  his  blessing,  promise  to  say  Kaddish 
for  his  soul,  that  he  might  be  saved  from  utter  dam- 
nation 1  Would  he  not  send  his  forgiveness  by  re- 
turn, for  Isaac's  days  were  numbered,  and  he  could 
not  linger  on  more  than  a  month  or  so .-' 

The  Maggid  was  terribly  shaken.  He  recalled 
bitterly  the  years  of  suffering,  crowned  by  Isaac's 
brutal  heedlessness  to  the  cry  of  his  dying  mother : 
but  the  more  grievous  the  boy's  sin,  the  more  awful 
the  anger  of  God  in  store  for  him. 

And  the  mother  —  would  not  her  own  Gan-Iden 
be  spoilt  by  her  boy's  agonizing  in  hell }  For  her 
sake  he  must  forgive  his  froward  offspring ;  perhaps 
God  would  be  more  merciful,  then.  The  merits  of 
the  father  counted:  he  himself  was  blessed  beyond 
his  deserts  by  the  merits  of  the  Fathers  —  of  Abra- 
ham, Isaac,  and  Jacob.  He  had  made  the  pilgrimage 
to  Jerusalem  ;  perhaps  his  prayers  would  be  heard  at 
the  Mercy-Seat. 

With  shaking  hand  the  old  man  wrote  a  letter  to 
his  son,  granting  him  a  full  pardon  for  the  sin  against 
himself,  but  begging  him  to  entreat  God  day  and 


178  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

night.  And  therewith  an  anthology  of  consohng 
Talmudical  texts :  "  A  man  should  pray  for  Mercy 
even  till  the  last  clod  is  thrown  upon  his  grave  .  .  . 
For  Repentance  and  Prayer  and  Charity  avert  the 
Evil  Decree."  The  Charity  he  was  himself  distribut- 
ing to  the  startled  Schnorrers. 

The  schoolmaster  wrote  out  the  envelope,  as  usual, 
but  the  Maggid  did  not  post  the  letter.  The  image 
of  his  son's  death-bed  was  haunting  him.  Isaac 
called  to  him  in  the  old  boyish  tones.  Could  he  let 
his  boy  die  there  without  giving  him  the  comfort  of 
his  presence,  the  visible  assurance  of  his  forgiveness, 
the  touch  of  his  hands  upon  his  head  in  farewell 
blessing  t     No,  he  must  go  to  him. 

But  to  leave  Jerusalem  at  his  age  }  Who  knew  if 
he  would  ever  get  back  to  die  there  }  If  he  should 
miss  the  hope  of  his  Hfe  !  But  Isaac  kept  calling  to 
him  —  and  Isaac's  mother.  Yes,  he  had  strength  for 
the  journey.  It  seemed  to  come  to  him  miraculously, 
like  a  gift  from  Heaven  and  a  pledge  of  its  mercy. 

He  journeyed  to  Beyrout,  and  after  a  few  days 
took  ship  for  Marseilles. 

VIII 

Meantime  in  the  London  Ghetto  the  unhappy 
Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst  found  each  day  a  year.  He 
was  in  a  rapid  consumption :  a  disorderly  life  had 
told  as  ruinously  upon    his    physique    as   upon   his 


TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM  179 

finances.  And  with  this  double  collapse  had  come  a 
strange  irresistible  resurgence  of  early  feelings  and 
forgotten  superstitions.  The  avenging  hand  was 
heavy  upon  him  in  life,  —  what  horrors  yet  awaited 
him  when  he  should  be  laid  in  the  cold  grave }  The 
shadow  of  death  and  judgment  over-brooded  him, 
clouding  his  brain  almost  to  insanity. 

There  would  be  no  forgiveness  for  him  —  his 
father's  remoteness  had  killed  his  hope  of  that.  It 
was  the  nemesis,  he  felt,  of  his  refusal  to  come  to  his 
dying  mother.  God  had  removed  his  father  from  his 
pleadings,  had  wrapped  him  in  an  atmosphere  holy 
and  aloof.  How  should  Miriam's  letter  penetrate 
through  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  pierce  through  the 
stonier  heart  hardened  by  twenty  years  of  desertion  ! 

And  so  the  day  after  she  had  sent  it,  the  spring 
sunshine  giving  him  a  spurt  of  strength  and  courage, 
a  desperate  idea  came  to  him.  If  he  could  go  to 
Jerusalem  himself !  If  he  could  fall  upon  his  father's 
neck,  and  extort  his  blessing  ! 

And  then,  too,  he  would  die  in  Jerusalem ! 

Some  half-obliterated  text  sounded  in  his  ears : 
"  And  the  land  shall  forgive  sin." 

He  managed  to  rise  —  his  betaking  himself  to  bed, 
he  found,  as  the  sunshine  warmed  him,  had  been 
mere  hopelessness  and  self-pity.  Let  him  meet 
Death  standing,  aye,  journeying  to  the  sun-lands. 
Nay,  when  Miriam,  getting  over  the  alarm  of  his  up- 
rising, began  to  dream  of  the  Palestine  climate  curing 


180  TO  DIE  IN  JERUSALEM 

him,  he  caught  a  last  flicker  of  optimism,  spoke  artis- 
tically of  the  glow  and  colour  of  the  East,  which  he 
had  never  seen,  but  which  he  might  yet  live  to 
render  on  canvas,  winning  a  new  reputation.  Yes, 
he  would  start  that  very  day.  Miriam  pledged  her 
jewellery  to  supply  him  with  funds,  for  she  dared  not 
ask  her  husband  to  do  more  for  the  stranger. 

But  long  before  Ethelred  P.  Wyndhurst  reached 
Jaffa  he  knew  that  only  the  hope  of  his  father's 
blessing  was  keeping  him  alive. 

Somewhere  at  sea  the  ships  must  have  passed  each 
other. 

IX 

When  the  gabardined  Maggid  reached  Miriam's 
house,  his  remains  of  strength  undermined  by  the 
long  journey,  he  was  nigh  stricken  dead  on  the  door- 
step by  the  news  that  his  journey  was  vain. 

**It  is  the  will  of  God,"  he  said  hopelessly.  The 
sinner  was  beyond  mercy.  He  burst  into  sobs  and 
tears  ran  down  his  pallid  cheeks  and  dripped  from 
his  sweeping  white  beard. 

"Thgu  shouldst  have  let  us  know,"  said  Miriam 
gently.  "  We  never  dreamed  it  was  possible  for  thee 
to  come." 

"  I  came  as  quickly  as  a  letter  could  have  an- 
nounced me." 

"  But  thou  shouldst  have  cabled." 

'*  Cabled  .? "     The  process  had  never  come  within 


TO  DIE   IN  JERUSALEM  181 

his  ken.  "  But  how  should  I  dream  he  could  travel  ? 
Thy  letter  said  he  was  on  his  death-bed.  I  prayed 
God  I  might  but  arrive  in  time." 

He  was  for  going  back  at  once,  but  Miriam  put 
him  to  bed — the  bed  Isaac  should  have  died  in. 

"Thou  canst  cable  thy  forgiveness,  at  least,"  she 
said,  and  so,  without  understanding  this  new  miracle, 
he  bade  her  ask  the  schoolmaster  to  convey  his  for- 
giveness to  his  son. 

"  Isaac  will  inquire  for  me,  if  he  arrives  alive,"  he 
said.  "  The  schoolmaster  will  hear  of  him.  It  is  a 
very  small  place,  alas !  for  God  hath  taken  away  its 
glory  by  reason  of  our  sins." 

The  answer  came  the  same  afternoon.  "  Message 
just  in  time.     Son  died  peacefully." 

The  Maggid  rent  his  bed-garment.  *'  Thank  God !  " 
he  cried.  *'  He  died  in  Jerusalem.  Better  he  than 
I  !  Isaac  died  in  Jerusalem !  God  will  have  mercy 
on  his  soul." 

Tears  of  joy  sprang  to  his  bleared  eyes.  "  He  died 
in  Jerusalem,"  he  kept  murmuring  happily  at  in- 
tervals.    "  My  Isaac  died  in  Jerusalem." 

Three  days  later  the  Maggid  died  in  London. 


VI 
BETHULAH 


VI 

BETHULAH 


The  image  of  her  so  tragically  trustful  in  that 
mountain  village  of  Bukowina  still  haunts  my 
mind,  and  refuses  to  be  exorcised,  as  of  yore,  by 
the  prose  of  life.  One  who  is  very  dear  to  me 
advises  driving  her  out  at  the  point  of  the  pen. 
Whether  such  recording  of  my  life's  strangest 
episode  will  lay  these  memories  or  not,  the  story 
itself  may  at  least  instruct  my  fellow-Jews  in  New 
York  how  variously  their  religion  has  manifested 
itself  upon  this  perplexing  planet.  Doubtless  many 
are  still  as  ignorant  as  I  was  respecting  their' 
mediaeval  contemporaries  in  Eastern  Europe.  True, 
they  have  now  opportunities  in  their  own  Ghetto  — 
which  is,  for  cosmopolitanism,  a  New  York  within 
a  New  York  —  of  studying  strata  from  other  epochs 
of  Judaism  spread  out  on  the  same  plane  of  time 
as  their  own,  even  as  upon  the  white  sheet  of  that 
wonderful  invention  my  aged  eyes  have  lived  to 
see,  sequent  events  may  be  pictured  simultaneously. 
In  my  youth  these  opportunities  did  not  exist.  Only 
in  Baltimore  and  a  few  of  the  great  Eastern  cities 

185 


186  BETH  ULAN 

was  there  any  aggregation  of  Jews,  and  these  were 
all  —  or  wanted  to  be  —  good  Yankees  ;  while  be- 
yond the  Mississippi,  where  my  father  farmed  and 
hunted  like  a  Christian,  and  where  you  might  have 
scoured  a  thousand  square  miles  to  get  minyan 
(ten  Jews  for  worship),  our  picturesque  customs 
and  ceremonies  dwindled  away  from  sheer  absence 
of  fellowship.  My  father  used  to  tell  of  a  bronzed 
trapper  he  breakfasted  with  on  the  prairie,  who 
astonished  him  by  asking  him  over  their  bacon  if 
he  were  a  Jew.  "  Yes,"  said  my  father.  **  Shake !  " 
said  the  trapper.  "  You're  the  first  fellow-Jew  I've 
met  for  twenty  years."  Though  in  my  childhood  my 
father  taught  me  the  Hebrew  he  had  brought  from 
Europe,  and  told  me  droll  Jewish  stories  in  his 
natiye  German,  it  will  readily  be  understood  that 
the  real  influences  I  absorbed  were  the  great 
American  ideals  of  liberty  and  humanity,  eman- 
cipation and  enlightenment,  and  that  therefore  the 
strange  things  I  witnessed  among  the  Carpathians 
were  far  more  startling  to  me  than  they  can  be  to 
the  Jews  of  to-day  upon  whom  the  Old  World  has 
poured  its  archaic  inhabitants.  Nevertheless,  I  can- 
not but  think  that  even  those  who  have  met  strange 
drifts  of  sects  in  New  York  will  be'  astonished  by 
the  tradition  which  I  stumbled  upon  so  blindly  in 
my  first  European  tour.  For,  so  far  as  I  can 
gather,  the  Zloczszol  legend  is  unique  in  Jewish 
history    and    confined    exclusively    to    this     out-of- 


BETHULAH  187 

the-way  corner,  however  near  other  heresies  may 
have  approached  to  some  of  the  underlying  con- 
ceptions. My  landlord  Yarchi's  view  that  it  was 
a  mere  piece  of  local  commercial  myth-making,  a 
gross  artifice,  would  have  at  least  the  merit  of  ex- 
plaining this  uniqueness.  It  has,  in  my  eyes,  no 
other. 

This  tour  of  mine  was  to  make  not  a  circle,  but 
a  half-circle,  for,  landing  at  Hamburg  I  was  to  re- 
turn by  the  Baltic,  after  a  circuit  through  Berlin, 
Prague,  Vienna,  Buda-Pesth,  Lemberg,  (where  my 
grandfather  had  once  been  a  rabbi  of  considera- 
tion), Moscow,  and  St.  Petersburg.  I  did  not  linger 
at  Hamburg;  purchasing  a  stout  horse,  I  started 
on  my  long  ride.  Of  course  it  did  not  seem  so 
long  to  me  —  who  had  already  ridden  from  Kansas 
to  both  of  our  seaboards —  as  it  would  to  a  young 
gentleman  of  to-day  accustomed  to  parlour  cars, 
though  the  constant  change  of  dialects  and  foods 
was  somewhat  unsettling. 

But  money  speaks  all  languages,  and  a  good 
Western  stomach  digests  all  diets.  Bad  water, 
however,  no  stomach  can  cope  with ;  and  I  was 
laid  up  at  Prague  with  a  fever,  which  left  me  too 
weak  to  hurry  on.  I  rambled  about  the  Ghetto  — 
the  Judenstadt  —  which  gave  me  my  first  insight 
into  mediaeval  Judaism,  and  was  fascinated  by  the 
quaint  alleys  and  houses,  the  Jewish  town-hall, 
and     the    cellarlike    Alt-Neu     synagogue    with    its 


188  BETHULAH 

miraculous  history  of  unnumbered  centuries.  I 
heard  the  story  of  the  great  red  flag  on  the 
pillar,  with  its  "  shield  of  David  "  and  the  Swede's 
hat,  and  was  shown  on  the  walls  the  spatterings 
of  the  blood  of  the  martyrs  of  1389. 

What  emotions  I  had  in  the  old  graveyard  —  a 
Ghetto  of  the  dead  —  where  the  graves  were  hud- 
dled together,  three  and  four  deep,  and  the  very 
tombstones  and  corpses  had  undergone  Ghetto 
persecution !  A  whole  new  world  opened  out  to 
me,  crooked  as  the  Ghetto  alleys  —  so  alien  from 
the  free  life  of  the  flowering  prairies  —  as  I  walked 
about  this  "  Judengarten,"  studying  the  Hebrew 
inscriptions  and  the  strange  symbolic  sculptures  — 
the  Priest's  hands  of  blessing,  the  Levite's  ewer, 
the  Israelites'  bunch  of  grapes,  the  Virgin  with 
roses  —  and  trying  to  reconstruct  the  life  these 
dead  had  lived.  Strange  ancestral  memories  seemed 
thrilling  through  me,  helping  me  to  understand. 
Many  stories  did  I  hear,  too,  of  the  celebrated 
Rabbi  Low,  and  of  the  golem  he  created,  which 
brought  him  his  meals :  in  sign  whereof  I  was 
shown  his  grave,  and  his  house  marked  with  'a 
lion  on  a  blue  background.  I  listened  with  Ameri- 
can incredulity  but  hereditary  sympathy.  I  was 
astonished  to  find  men  who  still  believed  in  a  cer- 
tain Sabbatai'  Zevi,  Messiah  of  the  Jews,  and  one 
showed  me  a  Sabbatian  prayer-book  with  a  tur- 
baned    head    of   this    Redeemer    side    by  side  with 


BETHULAH  189 

King  David's,  and  another  who  scoffed  at  this 
seventeenth-century  impostor,  yet  told  me  the 
tradition  in  his  own  family,  how  they  had  sold  their 
business  and  were  about  to  start  for  Palestine, 
when  the  news  reached  them  that  so  far  from  de- 
posing the  Sultan,  this  Redeemer  of  Israel  had 
become  his  doorkeeper  and  a  Mohammedan. 

The  year  was  passing  toward  the  Fall  ere  I  got 
to  Buda-Pesth  (in  those  days  the  enchanted  gate- 
way of  the  Orient,  resounding  with  gypsy  music, 
and  not  the  civilized  capital  I  found  it  the  other 
day),  and  I  had  not  proceeded  far  on  the  northerly 
bend  of  my  journey  when,  soon  after  crossing  the 
Carpathians,  I  was  imprisoned  in  the  mountain 
village  of  Zloczszol  by  the  sudden  overflow  of  the 
Dniester.  The  village  itself  was  sheltered  from 
the  floods  by  a  mountain  between  it  and  the  tribu- 
tary of  the  Dniester;  but  all  the  roads  northward 
were  impassable,  and  the  water  came  round  by 
clefts  and  soused  our  bordering  fields  and  oozed 
very  near  the  maize-garden  of  Yarchi's  pine  cottage, 
to  which  I  had  removed  from  the  dirty  inn,  where 
a  squalling  baby  in  a  cradle  had  shared  the  private 
sitting-room.  It  was  a  very  straggling  village, 
which  began  to  straggle  at  the  mountain-foot,  but, 
for  fear  of  avalanches,  I  was  told,  the  houses  did 
not  grow  companionable  till  some  half  a  mile  down 
the  plain. 

In  the   centre  of  the  village  was  a  cobble-paved 


190  BETHULAH 

"  Ring-Place"  and  market-place,  on  which  gave  a 
few  streets  of  shops  (the  provision-shops  bene- 
fiting hugely  by  the  floods,  which  made  imports 
difficult).  It  was  a  Jewish  colony,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  outlying  farms,  whose  peasants 
brought  touches  of  gorgeous  colour  into  the  pro- 
cession of  black  gabardines.  It  was  strange  to 
me  to  live  in  a  place  in  which  every  door-post 
bore  a  Meziizah.  It  gave  me  a  novel  sense  of 
being  in  a  land  of  Israel,  and  sometimes  I  used  to 
wonder  how  these  people  could  feel  such  a  sense 
of  local  patriotism  as  seemed  to  possess  them. 
And  yet  I  reflected  that,  like  the  giant  cedar  of  Leb- 
anon which  rose  from  the  plain  in  such  strange 
contrast  with  the  native  trees  of  Zloczszol,  Israel 
could  be  transplanted  everywhere,  and  was  made 
of  as  enduring  and  undying  a  wood  —  nay,  that, 
even  like  this  cedar-wood,  it  had  strange  properties 
of  conserving  other  substances  and  arresting  putre- 
faction. Hence  its  ubiquitous  patriotism  was  uni- 
versally profitable.  Nevertheless,  this  was  one  of 
the  surprises  of  my  journey  —  to  find  Jews  speak- 
ing every  language  under  the  European  sun,  re- 
garding themselves  everywhere  as  part  of  the  soil, 
and  often  patriotic  to  the  point  of  resenting  immi- 
grant Jews  as  foreigners.  I  myself  was  popularly 
known  as  "the  Stranger,"  though  I  was  not  re- 
sented, because  the  couple  of  dollars  at  which  I 
purchased   the   privilege  of    "ark-opening"  on  my 


BETHULAH  191 

first  visit  to  the  synagogue  —  a  little  Gothic  build- 
ing standing  in  a  court-yard  —  gave  me  a  further 
reputation  as  "the  rich  stranger."  Once  I  blushed 
to  overhear  myself  called  "the  handsome  stranger," 
and  I  -looked  into  my  cracked  mirror  with  fresh 
interest.  But  I  told  myself  modestly  a  stalwart 
son  of  the  prairies  had  an  unfair  advantage  in 
such  a  world  of  stooping  sallow  students.  Cer- 
tainly I  felt  myself  favoured  both  in  youth  and 
looks  when  I  stepped  into  the  Beth-Hamedrash, 
the  house  of  study  (which  I  had  at  first  taken  for 
a  little  mosque,  like  those  I  had  seen  on  the  slopes 
of  Buda),  and  watched  the  curious  gnarled  gray- 
beards  crooning  and  rocking  the  livelong  day  over 
worm-eaten  folios. 

Despite  such  odd  glimpses  of  the  interesting,  I 
grew  as  tired  of  waiting  for  the  waters  to  abate  as 
Noah  himself  must  have  felt  in  his  zoological 
institute. 

One  day  as  I  was  gazing  from  my  one-story  win- 
dow at  the  melancholy  marsh  to  which  the  flood  had 
reduced  the  landscape,  I  said  glumly  to  my  hunch- 
backed landlord,  who  stood  snuffing  himself  under 
the  porch,  "  I  suppose  it  will  be  another  week  before 
I  can  get  away." 

"  Alas  !  yes,"  Yarchi  replied. 

"  Why  alas  t "  I  asked.  "  It's  an  ill  wind  that 
blows  nobody  any  good,  and  the  longer  I  stay  the 
better  for  you." 


192  BETHULAH 

He  shook  his  head.  ''The  flood  that  keeps  you 
here  keeps  away  the  pilgrims." 

"  The  pilgrims  !  "  I  echoed. 

"  Ay,"  said  he.  "  There  will  be  three  in  that  bed 
of  yours." 

"  But  what  pilgrims  1 " 

He  stared  at  me.  "  Don't  you  know  the  New 
Year  is  nigh  .?  " 

"Of  course,"  I  said  mendaciously.  I  felt  ashamed 
to  confess  my  ignorant  unconcern  as  to  the  proximity 
of  the  solemn  season  of  ram's-horn  blasts  and 
penitence. 

"  Well,  it  is  at  New  Year  the  pilgrims  flock  to  their 
Wonder  Rabbi,  that  he  may  hear  their  petitions  and 
bear  them  on  high,  likewise  wrestle  with  Satan,  and 
entreat  for  their  forgiveness  at  the  throne  of  Grace." 
There  was  a  twinkle  in  Yarchi's  eyes  not  quite  con- 
sistent with  the  gravity  of  his  words. 

"  Do  Wonder  Rabbis  live  nowadays .? "  I  asked. 

A  pinch  of  snuff  Yarchi  was  taking  fell  from  be- 
tween his  fingers.  "  Do  they  live  !  "  he  cried.  "  Yes 
—  and  off  white  bread,  for  poverty  !  " 

"We  have  none  in  America.  I  only  heard  of  one 
in  Prague,"  I  murmured  apologetically,  fearing  the 
genus  might  be  of  the  very  elements  of  Judaism. 

"  Ah,  yes,  the  high  Rabbi  Low,  his  memory  for  a 
blessing,"  he  said  reverently.  "  But  these  new  Won- 
der Rabbis  can  only  work  one  miracle." 

"What  is  that.?"  I  asked. 


BETHULAH  193 

"  The  greatest  of  all  —  making  their  worshippers 
support  them  like  princes."  And  he  laughed  in 
admiration  of  his  own  humour. 

''Then  you  are  a  heretic  V  I  said. 

*'  Heretic  !  "  Yarchi's  black  eyes  exchanged  their 
twinkle  for  a  flash  of  resentment.  "  Nay ;  they  are 
the  heretics,  breeding  dissension  in  Israel.  Did  they 
not  dance  on  the  grave  of  the  sainted  Elijah  Wilna  t " 

Tired  of  tossing  the  ball  of  conversation  up  and 
down,  I  left  the  window  and  joined  the  philosopher 
under  his  porch,  where  I  elicted  from  him  his  version 
of  the  eighteenth-century  movement  of  Ckassidinty 
(the  pious  ones),  which,  in  these  days  of  English 
books  on  Judaism,  will  not  be  so  new  to  American 
Jews  as  it  was  to  me.  These  Shakers  (or,  as  we 
should  perhaps  say  nowadays,  Salvationists),  these 
protestants  against  cut-and-dried  Judaism,  who  arose 
among  the  Carpathians  under  the  inspiration  of  Besht 
(a  word  which  Yarchi  explained  to  me  was  made  out 
of  the  initials  of  Baal  Shem  Tob  —  the  Master  of  the 
Good  Name),  had,  it  seemed,  pullulated  into  a  thou- 
sand different  sects,  each  named  after  the  Wonder 
Rabbi  whom  it  swore  by,  and  in  whose  "exclusive 
divine  right"  (the  phrase  is  Yarchi's)  it  believed. 

"  But  we  have  the  divinest  chief,"  concluded 
Yarchi,  grinning. 

"  That's  what  they  all  say,  eh  .?  "  I  said,  smiling  in 
response. 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  Zloczszol  rabbi  is  stamped  with  the 


194  BETHULAH 

royal  seal.  He  professes  to  be  of  the  Messianic  seed, 
a  direct  descendant  of  David,  the  son  of  Jesse."  And 
the  hunchback  chuckled  with  malicious  humour. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him,"  I  said,  feeling  as  if 
Providence  had  provided  a  new  interest  for  my 
boredom. 

Yarchi  pointed  silently  with  his  discoloured  thumb 
over  the  plain. 

"  You  don't  mean  he  is  kept  in  that  storehouse !  " 
I  said. 

Yarchi  guffawed  in  high  good-humour. 

"  That !     That's  the  Klaus  !  " 

"  And  what's  the  Klaus  ?  " 

"  The  Chassidim  Stubele  (little  room)." 

"  Is  that  where  the  miracles  are  done  }  " 

"  No ;  that's  their  synagogue." 

"  Oh,  they  just  pray  there  !  " 

"  Pray  ?     They  get  as  drunk  as  Lot." 

II 

I  returned  to  my  window  and  gazed  curiously  at 
the  Klaus,  and  now  that  my  eye  was  upon  it  I  saw  it 
was  astir  with  restless  life.  Men  came  and  went  con- 
tinually. I  looked  toward  the  synagogue,  and  the 
more  pretentious  building  seemed  dead.  Then  I  re- 
membered what  Yarchi  had  told  me,  that  the  67/^^^/- 
/^/;/^  had  revolted  against  set  prayer-times.  (''They 
pray  and  drink  at  all  hours,"  was  his  way  of  putting 


BETHULAH      •  196 

it.)  Something  must  always  be  forward  in  the  Klaus, 
I  thought,  as  I  took  my  hat  and  stick,  on  exploring 
bent.  Instinctively  I  put  my  pistol  in  my  hip  pocket, 
then  bethought  myself  with  a  laugh  that  I  was  not 
likely  to  be  molested  by  the  "  pious  ones."  But  as  it 
was  unloaded,  I  let  it  remain  in  the  pocket. 

I  slipped  into  the  building  and  on  to  a  bench  near 
the  door.  But  for  the  veiled  Ark  at  the  end,  I  should 
not  have  known  the  place  for  a  house  of  worship. 
True,  some  men  were  sitting  or  standing  about,  shout- 
ing and  singing,  with  odd  spasmodic  gestures,  but 
the  bulk  were  lounging,  smoking  clay  pipes,  drinking 
coffee,  and  chattering,  while  a  few,  looking  like  tramps, 
lay  snoring  on  the  hard  benches,  deaf  to  all  the 
din.  My  eye  sought  at  once  for  the  Wonder  Rabbi 
himself,  but  amid  the  many  quaint  physiognomies 
there  was  none  with  any  apparent  seal  of  supremacy. 
The  note  of  all  the  faces  was  easy-going  good-will, 
and  even  the  passionate  contortions  of  melody  and 
body  which  the  worshippers  produced,  the  tragic 
clutchings  at  space,  the  clinching  of  fists,  and  the 
beating  of  breasts  had  an  air  of  cheery  impromptu. 
They  seemed  to  enjoy  their  very  tears.  And  every 
now  and  then  the  inspiration  would  catch  one  of  the 
gossipers  and  contort  him  likewise,  while  a  worship- 
per would  as  suddenly  fall  to  gossiping. 

Very  soon  a  frost-bitten  old  man  I  remembered 
coming  across  in  the  cemetery  on  the  mountain-slope, 
where  he  was  sweeping  the  fallen  leaves  from  a  tomb, 


196  '       BETHULAH 

and  singing  like  the  grave-digger  in  Hamlet,  sidled  up 
to  me  and  asked  me  if  I  needed  vodka.  I  thought  it 
advisable  to  need  some,  and  was  quickly  supplied 
from  a  box  the  old  fellow  seemed  to  keep  under  the 
Ark.  The  price  was  so  moderate  that  I  tipped  him 
with  as  much  again,  doubtless  to  the  enhancement  of 
the  ''rich  stranger's"  reputation.  Sipping  it,  I  was 
able  to  follow  with  more  show  of  ease  the  bursts  of 
rambling  conversation.  Sometimes  they  talked  about 
the  iloods,  anon  about  politics,  then  about  sacred  texts 
and  the  illuminations  of  the  Zohar.  But  there  was 
one  topic  which  ran  like  a  winding  pattern  through 
all  the  talk,  bursting  in  at  the  most  unexpected  places, 
and  this  was  the  wonders  wrought  by  their  rabbi. 

As  they  dilated  "  with  enkindlement  "  upon  miracle 
after  miracle,  some  wrought  on  earth  and  some  in 
the  higher  spheres  to  which  his  soul  ascended,  my 
curiosity  mounted,  and  calling  for  more  vodka, 
*'  Where  is  the  rabbi } "  I  asked  the  sexton. 

''  He  may  perhaps  come  down  to  lunch,"  said  he, 
in  reverent  accents,  as  if  to  imply  that  the  rabbi  was 
now  in  the  upper  spheres.  I  waited  till  tables  were 
spread  with  plain  fare  in  the  Klaus  itself.  At  the 
savour  the  fountain  of  worship  was  sealed ;  the  snor- 
ers  woke  up.  I  was  invited  to  partake  of  the 
meal,  which,  I  was  astonished  to  find,  was  free  to  all, 
provided  by  the  rabbi. 

"Truly  royal  hospitaHty,"  I  thought.  But  our 
royal  host  himself  did  not  "come  down." 


BETHULAH  197 

My  neighbour,  of  whom  I  kept  inquiring,  at  last 
told  me,  sympathetically,  to  have  patience  till  Friday 
evening,  when  the  rabbi  would  come  to  welcome  in 
the  Sabbath.  But  as  it  was  then  Tuesday,  *'  Cannot 
I  call  upon  him  ? "  I  asked. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Ben  David  holds  his  court 
no  more  this  year,"  he  said.  "  He  is  in  seclusion, 
preparing  for  the  exalted  soul-flights  of  the  pilgrim 
season.     The  Sabbath  is  his  only  public  day  now." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  wait  till  the  Friday 
eve,  though  in  the  meantime  I  got  Yarchi  to  show 
me  the  royal  palace  —  a  plain  two-storied  Oriental- 
looking  building  with  a  flat  roof,  and  a  turret  on  the 
eastern  side,  whose  high,  ivy-mantled  slit  of  window 
turned  at  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  into  a  great  diamond. 

"  He  couldn't  come  down,  couldn't  he } "  Yarchi 
commented.     "  I  daresay  he  wasn't  sober  enough." 

Somehow  this  jarred  upon  me.  I  was  beginning 
to  conjure  up  romantic  pictures,  and  assuredly  my 
one  glimpse  of  the  sect  had  not  shown  any  intoxication 
save  psychic. 

"■  He  is  very  generous,  anyhow,"  I  said.  "  He 
supplies  a  free  lunch." 

"  Free  to  him,"  retorted  the  incorrigible  Yarchi. 
**  The  worshippers  fancy  it  is  free,  but  it  is  they  who 
pay  for  it."  And  he  snuffed  himself,  chuckling. 
**  I'll  tell  you  what  is  free,"  he  added.    "  His  morals  ! " 

"  But  how  do  you  know  t  " 

"'  Oh,  a]l  those  fellows  go  in  for  the  Adamite  life." 


198  BETHULAH 

"  What  is  the  Adamite  life  ?  " 

He  winked.     "  Not  the  pre-Evite." 

I  saw  it  was  fruitless  to  reason  with  his  hunch- 
backed view  of  the  subject. 

On  the  Friday  eve  I  repaired  again  to  the  Klaus, 
but  this  time  it  was  not  so  easy  to  find  a  seat.  How- 
ever, by  the  grace  of  my  friend  the  sexton,  I  was 
accommodated  near  the  Ark,  where,  amid  a  congre- 
gation clad  in  unexpected  white,  I  sat,  a  conscious 
black  discord.  There  was  a  certain  palpitating  fer- 
vour in  the  air,  as  though  the  imminence  of  the  New 
Year  and  Judgment  Day  had  strung  all  spirits  to  a 
higher  tension.  Suddenly  a  shiver  seemed  to  run 
through  the  assemblage,  and  all  eyes  turned  to  the 
door.  A  tall  old  man,  escorted  by  several  persons 
of  evident  consideration,  walked  with  erect  head  but 
tottering  gait  to  the  little  platform,  in  front  of  the 
Ark,  and,  taking  a  praying-shawl  from  the  reveren- 
tial hand  of  the  sexton,  held  it  a  moment,  as  in 
abstraction,  before  drawing  it  over  his  head  and 
shoulders.  As  he  stood  thus,  almost  facing  me, 
yet  unconscious  of  me,  his  image  was  photographed 
on  my  excited  brain.  He  seemed  very  aged,  with 
abundant  white  locks  and  beard,  and  he  was  clothed 
in  a  white  satin  robe  cut  low  at  the  neck  and  orna- 
mented at  the  breast  with  gold-laced,  intersecting 
triangles  of  "the  Shield  of  David." 

On  his  head  was  a  sort  of  white  biretta.  I  noted 
a  curious  streak  of  yellow  in  the  silvered  eyebrows. 


BETHULAH  199 

as  if  youth  clung  on,  so  to  speak,  by  a  single  hair, 
and  underneath  these  arrestive  eyebrows  green  pupils 
alternately  glowed  and  smouldered.  On  his  forefinger 
he  wore  a  signet  ring,  set  with  amethysts  and  with 
a  huge  Persian  emerald,  which,  as  his  hand  rose  and 
fell,  and  his  fingers  clasped  and  unclasped  themselves 
in  the  convulsion  of  prayer,  seemed  to  glare  at  me 
like  a  third  green  eye.  And  as  soon  as  he  began 
thus  praying,  every  trace  of  age  vanished.  He  trem- 
bled, but  only  from  emotion ;  and  his  passion 
mounted,  till  at  last  his  whole  body  prayed.  And 
the  congregation  joined  in  with  shakings  and  quiver- 
ings and  thunderings  and  ululations.  Not  even  in 
Prague  had  I  experienced  such  sympathetic  emotion. 
After  the  well-regulated  frigidities  of  our  American 
services,  it  was  truly  warming  to  be  among  wor- 
shippers not  ashamed  to  feel.  Hours  must  have 
passed,  but  I  sat  there  as  content  as  any.  When 
the  service  ended,  everybody  crowded  round  the 
Wonder  Rabbi  to  give  the  **  Good  Sabbath  "  hand- 
shake. The  scene  jarred  me  by  its  incongruous 
suggestion  of  our  American  receptions  at  which  the 
lion  of  the  evening  must  extend  his  royal  paw  to 
every  guest.  But  I  went  up  among  the  rest,  and 
murmured  my  salutation.  The  glow  came  into  his 
eyes  as  they  became  conscious  of  me  for  the  first 
time,  and  his  gaunt  bloodless  hand  closed  crushingly 
on  mine,  so  that  I  almost  fancied  the  signet  ring 
was  sealing  my  flesh. 


200  BETHULAH 

''Good  Sabbath,  stranger,"  he  replied.  "You 
linger  long  here." 

"  As  long  as  the  floods,"  I  said. 

"  Are  you  as  dangerous  to  us  .-* "  he  flashed  back. 

"  I  trust  not,"  I  said,  a  whit  startled. 

His  jewelled  forefinger  drummed  on  the  reading- 
stand,  and  his  eyes  no  longer  challenged  mine,  but 
were  lowered  as  in  abstraction. 

"Your  grandfather,  who  lies  in  Lemberg,  was  no 
friend  to  the  followers  of  Besht.  He  laid  the  ban 
even  on  white  Sabbath  garments,  and  those  who  but 
wept  in  the  synagogues  he  classed  with  us." 

I  was  more  taken  aback  by  his  knowledge  of  my 
grandfather  than  by  that  ancient  gentleman's  hostility 
to  the  emotional  heresy  of  his  day. 

"  I  never  saw  my  grandfather,"  I  repHed  simply. 

"True.  The  son  of  the  prairies  should  know 
more  of  God  than  the  bookworms.  Will  you  accept 
a  seat  at  my  table  .?  " 

"  With  pleasure.  Rabbi,"  I  murmured,  dazed  by 
his  clairvoyant  air. 

They  were  now  arranging  the  two  tables,  one 
with  a  white  cloth  for  the  master  and  his  circle  in 
strict  order  of  precedence ;  and  the  other  of  bare 
wood  for  such  of  the  rabble  as  could  first  scramble 
into  the  seats.  I  was  placed  on  his  right  hand,  and 
became  at  once  an  object  of  wonder  and  awe.  The 
Kiddiish  which  initiated  the  supper  was  not  a  novel 
ceremony  to  me,  but  what  I  had  never  seen  before 


BETHULAH  201 

was  the  eagerness  with  which  each  guest  sipped  from 
the  circulating  wine-cup  of  consecration,  and  the  dis- 
appointment of  such  of  the  mob  as  could  find  no 
drop  to  drain.  Still  fiercer  was  the  struggle  for  the 
Wonder  Rabbi's  soup,  after  he  had  taken  a  couple 
of  spoonfuls ;  even  I  had  no  chance  of  distinction 
before  this  sudden  simultaneous  swoop,  though  of 
course  I  had  my  own  plateful  to  drink.  As  sudden 
was  the  transition  from  soup  to  song,  the  whole  com- 
pany singing  and  swaying  in  victorious  ecstasy.  I 
turned  to  speak  to  my  host,  but  his  face  awed  me. 
The  eyes  had  now  their  smouldering  inward  fire. 
The  eyebrows  seemed  wholly  white ;  the  features 
were  still.  Then  as  I  watched  him  his  whole  body 
grew  rigid,  he  closed  his  eyes,  his  head  fell  back. 
The  singing  ceased ;  as  tense  a  silence  reigned  as 
though  the  followers  too  were  in  a  trance.  My  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  Master's  blind  face,  which  had  now 
not  the  dignity  of  death,  but  only  the  indignity  of 
lifelessness,  and,  but  for  the  suggestion  of  mystery 
behind,  would  have  ceased  to  impress  me.  For 
there  was  now  revealed  a  coarseness  of  lips,  a  nar- 
rowness of  forehead,  an  ugliness  of  high  cheek-bone, 
which  his  imperial  glance  had  transfigured,  and  which 
his  flowing  locks  still  abated.  But  as  I  gazed,  the 
weird  stillness  took  possession  of  me.  I  could  not 
but  feel  with  the  rest  that  the  Master  was  making  a 
*' soul-ascension." 

It  seemed  very  long  —  yet  it  may  have  been  only 


202  BETHULAH 

a  few  minutes,  for  in  absolute  silence  one's  sense  of 
time  is  disconcerted  —  ere  waves  of  returning  life 
began  to  traverse  the  cataleptic  face  and  form.  At 
last  the  Wonder  Rabbi  opened  his  eyes,  and  the 
hush  grew  profounder.  Every  ear  was  astrain  for 
the  revelations  to  come. 

"  Children,"  said  he  slowly,  "  as  I  passed  through 
the  circles  the  souls  cried  to  me.  *  Haste,  haste,  for 
the  Evil  One  plotteth  and  the  Messianic  day  will  be 
again  delayed.'  So  I  rose  into  the  ante-chamber  of 
Grace  where  the  fiery  wheels  sang  '  Holy,  holy,'  an^ 
there  I  came  upon  the  Poison  God  waiting  to  see  the 
glory  of  the  Little  Face.  And  with  him  was  a  soul, 
very  strange,  such  as  I  had  never  seen,  living  neither 
in  heaven  nor  hell,  perchance  created  of  Satan  him- 
self for  his  instrument.  Then  with  a  great  cry  I 
uttered  the  Name,  and  the  Poison  God  fled  with 
a  great  fluttering,  leaving  the  nameless,  naked  soul 
helpless  amid  the  consuming,  dazzling  wheels.  So 
I  returned  through  the  circles  to  reassure  the  souls, 
and  they  shouted  with  a  great  shout." 

"  Hallelujah ! "  came  in  a  great  shout  from  the 
wrought-up  listeners,  and  then  they  burst  into  a  lilt- 
ing chant  of  triumph.  But  by  this  time  my  mood 
had  changed.  The  spell  of  novelty  had  begun  to 
wear  off;  perhaps  also  I  was  fatigued  by  the  long 
strain.  I  recalled  the  coarser  face  of  the  comatose 
saint,  and  I  found  nothing  but  gibberish  in  the  oracu- 
lar "  revelation "  which  he  had  brought  down  with 


BETHULAH  203 

such  elaborate  pains  from  the  circles  amid  which  he 
seemed  to  move. 

.  Thanking  him  for  his  hospitality,  I  slipped  from 
the  hot,  roaring  room. 

Ah !  what  a  waft  of  fresh  air  and  sense  of  starlit 
space  !  The  young  moon  floated  in  the  star-sprinkled 
heavens  like  a  golden  boat,  with  a  faint  suggestion 
of  the  full-sailed  orb.  The  true  glamour  and  mys- 
tery of  the  universe  were  again  borne  in  upon  me, 
as  in  our  rich,  constellated  prairie  nights,  and  all  the 
artificial  abracadabra  of  the  Klatis  seemed  akin  to  its 
heated,  noisy  atmosphere.  The  lights  of  the  village 
were  extinguished,  and,  looking  at  my  watch,  I  found 
it  was  close  upon  midnight.  But  as  I  passed  the 
saint's  "  palace "  I  was  astonished  to  find  a  light 
twinkling  from  the  turret  window.  I  wondered  who 
kept  vigil.  Then  I  bethought  me  it  was  Friday 
night  when  no  light  could  be  struck,  and  this  must 
be  Ben  David's  bed-room  lamp,  awaiting  his  return. 

"I  thought  he  had  taken  you  up  in  his  fiery 
chariot,"  grumbled  Yarchi  sleepily,  as  he  unbarred 
the  door. 

""  The  fiery  chariot  must  not  run  on  the  Sabbath," 
I  said  smiling.  "  And,  moreover,  Ben  David  takes 
no  passengers  to  the  circles." 

**  Circles !  He  ought  to  have  a  circle  of  rope 
round  his  neck." 

''The  soup  was  good,"  I  pleaded,  as  I  groped  my 
way  toward  my  quaint,  tall  bed. 


204  BET HU LAN 


III 


I  cannot  explain  why,  when  Yarchi  asked  me  sar- 
castically, over  the  Sabbath  dinner,  whether  I  was 
going  to  the  "  Supper  of  the  Holy  Queen,"  I  knew 
at  once  that  I  should  be  found  at  this  mysterious 
meal.  Perhaps  it  was  that  I  had  nothing  better  to 
do ;  perhaps  my  sympathy  was  returning  to  those 
strange,  good-humoured,  musical  loungers,  so  far 
removed  from  the  New  York  ideal  of  life.  Or  per- 
haps I  was  vaguely  troubled  by  the  dream  I  had 
wrestled  with  more  or  less  obscurely  all  night  long  — 
that  I  stood  naked  in  a  whirl  of  burning  wheels  that 
sang,  as  they  turned,  the  melody  of  the  Chassidirn. 
Was  I  this  nondescript  soul,  I  wondered,  half  smil- 
ingly, fashioned  of  the  Evil  One  to  delay  the  Messianic 
era  ? 

The  sun  was  set,  the  three  stars  already  in  the  sky, 
and  my  pious  landlord  had  performed  the  Ceremony 
of  Division  ere  I  set  out,  declining  the  bread  and  fish 
Yarchi  offered  to  make  up  in  a  package. 

*'  Saturday  nights  every  man  must  bring  his  own 
meal,"  he  said. 

I  replied  that  I  went  not  to  eat,  but  to  look  on. 
However,  I  was  so  late  in  arriving  that,  as  there 
were  no  lights,  looking  on  was  well-nigh  reduced  to 
listening.  In  the  gray  twilight  the  Klaus  seemed 
full  of  uncanny  forms  rocking  in  monotonous  sing- 
song.   Through  the  gathering  gloom  the  old  Wonder 


BETHULAH  206 

Rabbi's  face  loomed  half  ghostlike,  half  regal.  As 
the  mystic  dusk  grew  deeper  and  darkness  fell,  the 
fascination  of  it  all  began  to  overcome  me :  the  dim, 
tossing,  crooning  figures,  divined  rather  than  seen, 
washed  round  lappingly  and  swayingly  by  their  own 
rhythmic  melody,  full  of  wistful  sweetness.  My 
soul  too  tossed  in  this  circumlapping  tide.  The 
complex  world  of  modern  civilization  fell  away  from 
me  as  garments  fall  from  a  bather.  Even  this  primi- 
tive mountain  village  passed  into  nothingness,  and 
in  a  timeless,  spaceless  universe  I  floated  in  a  lulling, 
measureless  music. 

^ons  might  have  elapsed  ere  the  glare  of  light 
dazzled  my  eyes  when  the  week-day  candles  were 
lit,  and  the  supper  to  escort  the  departing  Holy 
Queen  —  the  Sabbath  —  began.  Again  I  was  invited 
to  the  upper  table,  despite  Yarchi's  warning.  But  I 
had  no  appetite  for  earthly  things,  was  jarred  by  the 
prosaic  gusto  with  which  the  mystics  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  tureen  of  red  Borsch  and  the  black 
pottle  of  brandy. 

"  Der  Rabbi  hat  geheissen  Branntwein  trinken," 
hummed  the  sexton  joyously.  But  little  by  little, 
as  their  stomachs  grew  satiate,  the  holy  singing 
started  afresh,  and  presently  they  leaped  up,  pulled 
aside  the  table,  and  made  a  whirling  ring.  I  was 
caught  up  into  the  human  cyclone,  and  round  and 
round  we  flew,  our  hands  upon  one  another's  shoul- 
ders, with  blind  ecstatic  faces,  our  legs  kicking  out 


206  BETHULAH 

madly,  to  repel,  I  understood,  the  embryonic  demons 
outside  the  magic  circle.  And  again  methought  I 
made  a  "soul-ascension,"  or  at  least  hovered  as  near 
to  the  ineffable  mysteries  as  the  demoniacles  to  our 
magic  circle. 

Oh,  what  inexpressible  religious  raptures  were 
mine !  What  no  gorgeous  temple,  nor  pealing  organ, 
nor  white-robed  minister  had  ever  wrought  for  me 
was  wrought  in  this  barracklike  room  with  its  rude 
benches  and  wooden  ark.  "■  Children  of  the  Palace  " 
we  sang,  and  as  I  strove  to  pick  up  the  words  I 
thought  we  were  indeed  sons  of  our  Father  who  is  in 
Heaven. 

CHILDREN   OF   THE   PALACE 

Children  of  the  Palace,  haste  — 

All  who  yearn  the  bliss  to  taste 

Of  the  glorious  Little-Faced, 

Where,  within  the  King's  house  placed, 

Shines  the  sapphire  throne  enchased. 

Come,  in  joyful  dance  enlaced, 

Mock  the  cold  and  primly  chaste. 

See  no  sullen  nor  straitlaced 

In  our  circle  may  be  traced. 

Here  with  th'  Ancient  One  embraced 

Inmost  truth  'tis  ours  to  taste, 

Outer  husks  are  shred  to  waste. 

Children  of  the  Palace,  haste, 

With  the  glory  to  be  graced, 

Come,  behold  the  Little-Faced. 

We  broke  up  some  hours  earlier  than  the  previous 
evening,  but   I   hurried   away  from   my   sauntering 


BETHULAH  207 

fellow-worshippers,  not  now  because  I  was  disgusted, 
but  because  I  feared  to  be.  I  needed  solitude  — 
communion  with  my  own  soul.  The  same  crescent 
moon  hung  in  the  heavens,  the  same  endless  stars 
drew  on  the  thoughts  to  a  material  infinity. 

But  now  I  felt  there  was  another  and  a  truer 
universe  encompassing  this  painted  vision  —  a  spirit- 
ual universe  of  which  I  had  hitherto  known  nothing, 
though  I  had  glibly  prated  of  it  and  listened  well- 
satisfied  to  sermons  about  it. 

The  air  was  warm  and  pleasant,  and,  still  thrilling 
with  the  sense  of  the  Over-Soul,  I  had  passed  the 
outposts  of  the  village  almost  unconsciously,  and 
walked  in  the  direction  of  the  cemetery  on  the  other 
slope  of  the  mountain  (for  the  dead  feared  neither 
floods  nor  avalanches).  On  my  left  ran  the  river, 
still  turbulent  and  encumbered  with  wreckage  and 
logs,  but  now  at  low  tide  some  feet  below  the  level 
of  its  steep  banks.  The  road  gradually  narrowed 
till  at  last  I  was  walking  on  a  mere  strip  of  path 
between  the  starlit  water  and  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain, which  rose  ineffably  solemn  with  its  desolate 
rock  at  my  side  and  its  dark  pines  higher  up.  And 
suddenly  lifting  my  eyes,  I  saw  before  me  a  mystic 
moonlit  figure  that  set  my  heart  beating  with  terror 
and  surprise. 

It  was  the  figure  of  a  woman,  or  rather  of  a  girl, 
tall,  queenly,  shining  in  a  strange  white  robe,  with  a 
crown  of  roses  and  olive  branches.     For  a  moment 


208  BETHULAH 

she  seemed  like  some  spirit  of  moonlight.  But 
though  the  eyes  were  misted  with  sadness  and 
dream,  the  face  was  of  the  most  beautiful  Jewish 
oval,  glowing  with  dark  creamy  flesh. 

A  wild  idea  rose  to  my  mind,  and,  absurdly 
enough,  stilled  my  beating  heart.  This  was  the 
Holy  Queen  Sabbath  whose  departure  we  had  just 
been  celebrating,  and  in  this  unfrequented  haunt 
she  abode  till  the  twilight  of  the  next  Friday. 

**  Hail,  Holy  Queen  !"  I  said,  almost  involuntarily. 

I  saw  her  large  beautiful  eyes  grow  larger  as  she 
woke  with  a  start  to  my  presence,  but  she  only  in- 
cHned  her  head  with  a  sovereign  air,  as  one  used  to 
adoration,  and  floated  on  —  for  so  her  gracious  motion 
seemed  to  me. 

And  as  she  passed  by,  it  flashed  upon  me  that  the 
strange  white  robe  was  nothing  but  a  shroud.  And 
again  a  great  horror  seized  me.  But  struggling  with 
my  failing  senses,  I  told  myself  that  at  worst  it  was 
some  poor  creature  buried  alive  in  the  graveyard, 
who  had  forced  the  coffin  lid,  and  now  wandered 
half  insanely  homewards. 

"  May  I  not  escort  you,  lady  .'*  **  I  cried  after  her. 
"The  way  is  lonely.'. 

She  turned  her  face  again  upon  me.  I  saw  it  had 
fire  as  well  as  mystery. 

"Who  dare  molest  the  Holy  Queen } "  she  said. 

Again  I  was  plunged  into  the  wildest  bewilder- 
ment.    Was  my  first  fancy  true .?    Or  had  I  stumbled 


BETHULAH  209 

upon  some  esoteric  title  she  bore  ?  Or  had  she  but 
seized  on  my  own  phrase  ? 

"  But  you  go  far  ?  "  I  persisted. 

"  Unto  my  father's  house." 

"  Pardon  me.     I  am  a  stranger." 

She  turned  round  wholly  now  and  looked  at  me. 
"Oh,  zx^  yoii  the  Stranger  f  she  said.  The  ques- 
tion rippled  like  music  from  her  lips  and  was  as 
sweet  to  my  ear,  linking  her  to  me  by  the  suggestion 
that  I  was  not  new  to  her  imagination. 

"  I  am  the  Stranger,"  I  answered,  moving  slowly 
toward  her,  "  and  therefore  afraid  for  your  sake, 
and  startled  by  the  shroud  you  wear." 

"  Since  the  dawn  of  my  thirteenth  year  it  has 
been  my  daily  robe.  It  should  be  in  lamentation 
for  Zion  laid  waste.  But  me,  I  fear,  it  reminds 
more  of  my  dead  mother  and  sisters." 

"  You  had  sisters  }  " 

"  Two  beautiful  lives,  blown  out  one  after  the 
other  like  candles,  making  our  home  dark,  when  I 
was  but  a  child.  They  too  wore  shrouds  in  life  and 
death,  first  the  elder,  then  the  younger;  and  when 
I  draw  mine  over  my  dress,  it  is  of  them  I  think 
always.  I  feel  we  are  truly  sisters  —  sisters  of  the 
shroud." 

I  shivered  as  from  some  chill  graveyard  air,  despite 
her  sweet  corporeality. 

"But  the  crown — the  crown  of  joy  .'^"  I  murmured, 
regarding  now   with   closer   vision   the   intertangled 


210  BETHULAH 

weaving  of  roses  and  myrtle  and  olive  branches, 
with  gold  and  crimson  threads  wound  about  salt 
stones  and  the  pale  yellow  of  pyrites. 

"I  do  not  know  what  it  signifies,"  she  said  simply. 

"  Are  you  not  the  Holy  Queen  t "  I  asked,  begin- 
ning to  scent  some  Cabalistic  or  Chassidic  mystery. 

"  Men  worship  me.  But  I  know  not  of  what  I  am 
queen."  And  a  wistful  smile  played  about  the  sweet 
mouth.  "  Peace  and  sweet  dreams  to  you,  sir."  And 
she  turned  her  face  to  the  village. 

She  knew  not  of  what  she  was  queen.  There,  all 
in  one  sentence,  was  the  charm,  the  wonder,  the 
pathos,  of  her.  Yet  there  was  still  much  that  she 
knew  that  would  enlighten  me.  And  it  was  not 
wholly  curiosity  that  provoked  me  to  hold  the  vision. 
I  hated  to  see  the  enchantment  of  her  presence 
dissolve,  to  be  robbed  of  the  liquid  notes  of  her  voice. 

"  You  are  queen  of  me  at  least,"  I  said,  follow- 
ing her,  and  throwing  all  my  republican  principles 
into  the  river  among  the  other  wreckage.  "And 
your  Majesty's  liege  cannot  endure  to  see  you  walk 
unattended  so  late  in  the  night." 

"  I  have  God's  company,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"  True ;  He  is  always  with  us.  Nevertheless,  at 
night  and  in  the  mountains  —  " 

"  He  may  be  perceived  more  clearly.  My  father 
makes  soul-ascensions  at  any  hour  by  force  of  prayer. 
But  for  me  the  divine  ecstasy  comes  only  under 
God's  heaven,  and  most  clearly  at  night  and  among 


BETHULAH  211 

the  graves.  By  day  God  is  invisible,  like  the 
stars." 

"  They  may  be  perceived  from  a  well,"  I  said, 
mechanically,  for  my  brain  was  busy  with  the  intui- 
tion that  she  was  Ben  David's  daughter,  that  her 
"queendom"  was  somehow  bound  up  with  his  alleged 
royal  descent. 

**  Even  so  is  God  visible  from  the  deeps  of  the 
spirit,"  she  answered.  "  But  these  depths  are  not 
mine,  and  day  speaks  to  me  less  surely  of  Him." 

"The  day  is  divine  too,"  I  urged.  "God  speaks 
also  through  joy,  through  sunshine." 

"  It  is  but  the  gilding  of  sorrow." 

"  Nay,  that  is  too  hard  a  saying.  How  can  you 
know  that.'*  You"  —  I  made  a  bold  guess,  for  my 
brain  had  continued  to  work  feverishly  —  "  who  live 
cloistered  in  a  turret,  who  are  kept  sequestered  from 
man,  who  walk  at  night,  and  only  among  the  dead. 
How  can  you  know  that  life  is  so  sad  t " 

"I  feel  it.  Is  not  every  stone  in  the  graveyard 
hewn  from  the  dead  heart  of  the  mourners  } " 

All  the  sadness  of  the  world  was  in  her  eyes,  yet 
somehow  all  the  sweet  solace.  Again  she  bade  me 
good-night,  and  I  was  so  under  the  spell  of  her 
strange  reply  that  I  made  no  further  effort  to  follow 
her,  as  she  was  swallowed  up  in  the  gloom  of  the 
iirs  where  the  path  wound  back  round  the  mountain. 


212  BETHULAH 


IV 


The  floods  abated  before  the  New  Year  dawned, 
as  was  testified  by  the  arrival,  not  of  doves  with  olive 
leaves,  but  of  pilgrims  from  the  north  with  shekels. 
The  road  was  therefore  open  for  me  to  go,  yet  I 
lingered.  I  told  myself  it  was  the  fascination  of  the 
pilgrims,  that  curious  new  population  which  brought 
quite  a  bustle  into  the  "Ring-Place"  of  Zloczszol, 
and  gave  even  the  shops  of  the  native  Chassidim  a 
live  air.  There  were  unpleasant  camp-followers  in 
the  train  of  the  invading  army,  cripples  and  con- 
sumptives, both  rich  and  poor ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
it  was  a  cheery,  well-to-do  company.  I  retained  my 
room  by  paying  the  rent  of  three  lodgers,  and  even 
then  Yarchi  would  come  in  and  look  at  the  big, 
tall  bed  wistfully,  as  if  it  were  a  waste  of  sleeping 
material. 

The  great  episode  of  each  day  was  now  the  royal 
levee.  Crowds  besieged  the  door  of  the  "  palace," 
in  quest  of  health,  wealth,  and  happiness,  and  the 
proprietor  of  fields  had  to  squeeze  in  with  the  tramp, 
and  the  peasant  woman  and  her  neglected  brat  jostled 
the  jewelled  dame  from  the  towns.  I  was  glad  to 
think  that  the  "  Holy  Queen "  was  hidden  safely 
away  in  her  turret,  and  this  consoled  me  for  not 
meeting  her  again,  though  I  walked  or  trotted  about 
on  my  bay  mare  at  all  hours  and  in  all  places  in 
quest  of  her. 


BETHULAH  218 

It  may  seem  curious  that  I  did  not  boldly  call  and 
ask  to  see  her,  but  that  would  bring  the  common- 
place into  our  so  poetic  relation.  Besides  which,  I 
divined  that  she  would  not  be  easily  on  view.  Be- 
yond indirectly  justifying  my  intuition  that  she  was 
Ben  David's  daughter  by  satisfying  myself  that  the 
Wonder  Rabbi  had  once  had  three  girls,  two  of  whom 
had  died,  I  would  not  even  make  inquiries.  I  feared 
to  dissipate  the  mystery  and  sacredness  of  our  re- 
lation by  gossip.  Perhaps  Yarchi  would  tell  me  she 
was  mad,  or  treat  me  to  some  other  coarse  miscon- 
ception due  to  the  callous  feelers  with  which  he 
apprehended  the  world. 

I  did  not  even  know  for  certain  that  the  light  I  saw 
in  the  turret  was  hers.  But  when  at  night  it  was  out, 
I  hastened  to  the  river-side,  to  see  only  my  own 
shadow  on  the  hushed  mountain  slope  or  on  the 
white  tombs.  It  seemed  clear  that  she  was  being 
kept  sacred  from  the  pilgrims'  gaze ;  perhaps,  too, 
the  deserted,  untravelled  road  which  was  safe  as  her 
own  home  in  normal  times,  was  less  secure  now. 

When  I  at  last  ventured  to  say  casually  to  Yarchi 
that  Ben  David's  daughter  seemed  to  be  kept  strictly 
to  the  house,  the  ribald  grin  I  had  feared  distorted 
his  malicious  mouth. 

"  Oh,  you  have  seen  Bethulah  !  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  I  murmured,  turning  my  flushed  face  away, 
but  glad  to  learn  her  name.  Bethulah  !  Bethulah  ! 
my  heart  seemed  to  beat  to  the  music  of  it. 


214  BETHULAH 

"  Does  she  still  stalk  about  in  a  shroud  ?  "  He  did 
not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  went  off  into  unending 
laughter,  which  doubled  him  up  till  his  hunch  pro- 
truded upward  like  a  camel's. 

"  She  does  not  go  about  at  all  now,"  I  said  freez- 
ingly.  But  this  set  Yarchi  cachinnating  worse  than 
ever. 

"  He  daren't  trust  even  his  own  disciples,  you  see ! 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

**  Yarchi !  "  I  cried  angrily,  "  you  know  Bethulah 
must  be  kept  sacred  from  this  rabble,"  and  I  switched 
with  my  riding-whip  at  the  poppies  that  grew  among 
the  maize  in  the  little  front  garden,  as  if  they  were 
pilgrims  and  I  a  Tarquin. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that's  Ben  David's  game.  But  I 
wish  some  man  would  marry  her  and  ruin  his  busi- 
ness.    Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  It  would  ruin  yours  too,"  I  reminded  him,  more 
angrily.  "  You  are  ready  enough  to  let  lodgings  to 
the  pilgrims." 

Yarchi  shrugged  his  hump.  "  If  fools  are  fools, 
wise  men  are  wise  men,"  he  replied  oracularly. 

I  strode  away,  but  he  had  heated  my  brain  with  a 
new  idea,  or  one  that  I  now  allowed  myself  to  see 
clearly.  Some  man  might  marry  her.  Then  why 
should  I  not  be  that  man  }  Why  should  I  not  carry 
Bethulah  back  to  America  with  me  —  the  most  pre- 
cious curiosity  of  the  Old  World  —  a  frank,  virginal 
creature  with  that  touch  of  the  angel  which   I  had 


BETHULAH  215 

dreamed  of  but  had  never  met  among  our  smart  girls 
—  up  to  then.  And  even  if  it  were  true  that  Ben 
David  was  a  fraud,  and  needed  the  girl  for  his 
Cabalistic  mystifications,  even  so  I  was  rich  enough 
to  recoup  him.  The  girl  herself  was  no  conscious 
accessory;  of  that  I  felt  certain. 

When  my  brain  cooled,  suggestions  of  the  other 
aspects  of  the  question  began  to  find  entrance. 
What  of  Bethulah  herself  }  Why  should  she  care  to 
marry  me }  Or  to  go  to  the  strange,  raw  country } 
And  such  a  union  —  was  it  not  too  incongruous,  too 
fantastic,  for  practical  life.?  Thus  I  wrestled  with 
myself  for  three  days,  all  the  while  watching  Bethu- 
lah's  turret  or  the  roads  she  might  come  by.  On  the 
third  night  I  saw  a  wild  mob  of  men  at  the  turret  end 
of  the  house,  dancing  in  a  ring  and  singing,  with 
their  eyes  turned  upward  to  the  light  that  burnt  on 
high.  Their  words  I  could  not  catch  at  first  through 
the  tumultuous  howl,  but  it  went  on  and  on,  like  their 
circumvolutions,  over  and  over  again,  till  my  brain 
reeled.  It  seemed  to  be  an  appeal  to  Bethulah  to 
plead  their  cause  on  the  coming  Yom-Hadin  (New- 
Year  day  of  Judgment)  :  — 

"  By  thy  soul  without  sin, 
Enter  heaven  within, 
This  divine  Vom-Hadin, 
Holy  Maid. 

"  Undertake  thou  our  plea ; 
Let  the  Poison  God  be 
Answered  stoutly  by  thee, 
Holy  Oueeii.''' 


216  BETHULAH 

When  I  came  to  write  this  down  afterward,  I  dis- 
covered it  was  an  acrostic  on  her  name,  as  is  custom- 
ary with  festival  prayers.  And  this  I  have  preserved 
in  my  rough  translation. 


Despite  my  new  spiritual  insight,  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  sympathize  with  such  crude  earthly  vision- 
ings  of  the  heavenly  judgment  bar  (doubtless  bor- 
rowed from  the  book  of  Job,  which  our  enlightened 
Western  rabbis  rightly  teach  to  be  allegorical). 
Temporary  absorption  into  the  Over-Soul  seemed  to 
me  to  sum  up  the  limits  of  Chassidic  experience.  Be- 
sides, Bethulah  was  not  a  being  to  be  employed  as 
a  sort  of  supernatural  advocate,  but  a  sad,  tender 
creature  needing  love  and  protection. 

This  mob  howling  outside  my  lady's  chamber 
added  indignation  to  my  strange  passion  for  this 
beautiful  "sister  of  the  shroud."  I  would  rescue  her 
from  this  grotesque  environment.  I  would  go  to  her 
father  and  formally  demand  her  hand,  as,  I  had  learnt, 
was  the  custom  among  these  people.  I  slept  upon 
the  resolution,  yet  in  the  morning  it  was  still  un- 
crumpled ;  and  immediately  after  breakfast  I  took 
my  stand  among  the  jostling  crowd  outside  the 
turreted  house,  and  unfairly  secured  precedence  by 
a  gold  piece  slipped  into  the  palm  of  the  doorkeeper. 
The  scribe  I   found  stationed   in   the   ante-chamber 


BETHULAH  217 

made  me  write  my  wish  on  a  piece  of  paper,  which, 
however,  I  was  instructed  to  carry  in  myself. 

Ben  David  was  seated  in  a  curious  soft-cushioned, 
high-backed  chair,  with  the  intersecting  triangles 
making  a  carved  apex  to  it,  but  otherwise  there  was 
no  mark  of  what  Yarchi  would  have  called  charla- 
tanism. His  face,  set  between  a  black  velvet  biretta 
and  the  white  masses  of  his  beard,  had  the  dignity 
with  which  it  had  first  impressed  me,  and  his  long, 
fur-trimmed  robe  gave  him  an  air  of  mediaeval 
wisdom. 

'*  Peace  be  to  you,  long-lingering  stranger,"  he 
said,  though  his  green  eyes  glittered  ominously. 

*'  Peace,"  I  murmured  uneasily. 

With  his  left  hand  he  put  the  still  folded  paper  to 
his  brow.  I  watched  the  light  playing  on  the  Persian 
emerald  seal  of  the  ring  on  the  forefinger  of  his  right 
hand.  Suddenly  I  perceived  he  too  was  looking  at 
the  stone  —  nay,  into  it  —  and  that  while  that  con- 
tinued to  glitter,  his  own  eyes  had  grown  glazed. 

"  Strange,  strange,"  he  muttered.  "Again  I  see 
the  fiery  wheels,  and  the  strange  soul  fashioned  of 
Satan  that  dwells  neither  in  heaven  nor  in  hell." 
And  his  eyes  lit  up  terribly  again  and  rolled  like 
fiery  wheels. 

"  What  do  you  want }  "  he  cried  harshly. 

"It  is  written  on  the  paper,"  I  faltered,  "just  two 
words." 

He  opened  the  paper  and  read  out,  "  Your  daugh- 


218  '  BETHULAH 

ter  !  "  His  eyes  rolled  again.  **  What  know  you  of 
my  daughter? " 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  her,"  I  said  airily. 

"  Then  you  know  that  my  daughter  does  not  re- 
ceive pilgrims." 

"  Nay,  'tis  I  that  wish  to  receive  your  daughter," 
I  ventured  jocosely,  with  a  touch  of  levity  I  did  not 
feel.  He  raised  his  clinched  hand  as  if  to  strike  me, 
and  I  had  a  lurid  sense  of  three  green  eyes  glaring 
at  me.  I  stood  my  ground  as  coolly  as  possible,  and 
said,  in  dry,  formal  tones,  "  I  wish  to  make  applica- 
tion for  her  hand." 

A  great  blackness  came  over  the  frosted  visage,  as 
if  his  black  biretta  had  been  suddenly  drawn  forward, 
and  his  erst  blanched  eyebrows  gloomed  like  a  black 
lightning-cloud  over  the  baleful  eyes. 

I  shrank  back,  then  I  had  a  sudden  vision  of  the 
wagons  clattering  down  Broadway  in  a  live,  sunlit, 
go-ahead  world,  and  the  Wonder  Rabbi  turned  into 
an  absurd  old  parent  with  a  beautiful  daughter  and  a 
bad  temper. 

"  I  am  a  man  of  substance,"  I  went  on  dryly.  "  In 
my  country  I  have  fat  lands." 

The  horribleness  of  thus  bidding  for  Bethulah 
flashed  on  me  even  as  I  spoke.  To  mix  up  a  crea- 
ture of  mist  and  moonlight  with  substance  and  fat 
lands  !  Monstrous  !  And  yet  I  knew  that  thus,  and 
thus  only,  by  honourable  talk  with  her  guardian,  could 
a  Zloczszol  bride  be  won. 


BETHULAH  219 

But.  the  Wonder  Rabbi  sprang  to  his  feet  so  vehe- 
mently that  his  high-backed  chair  rocked  as  in  a  gale. 

"  Dog  !  "  he  shrieked.     **  Blasphemer  !  " 

I  summoned  all  my  American  sang-froid. 

"  Dog,"  I  agreed,  **  inasmuch  as  I  follow  your 
daughter  like  a  dog,  humbly,  lovingly.  But  blas- 
phemer }  Say  rather  worshipper.  For  I  worship 
Bethulah." 

"Then  worship  her  like  the  others,"  he  roared. 
Had  I  not  heard  him  pray,  I  should  have  expected 
the  hoary  patriarch  to  collapse  after  such  an  out- 
burst. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  want  her  to  fly  up 
to  heaven  for  me.  I  want  her  to  come  down  to  earth 
—  from  her  turret." 

"  She  will  not  come  down  to  any  earthly  spouse," 
he  said  more  gently.     "  Quite  the  reverse." 

"Then  I  will  make  a  soul-ascension,"  I  said  defi- 
antly. 

"Get  back  to  hell,  spawn  of  Satan  !  "  he  thundered 
again.  "  Or  since,  strange  son  of  the  New  World, 
you  neither  believe  nor  disbelieve,  hover  eternally 
between  hell  and  heaven  !  " 

"  Meantime  I  am  here,"  I  said  good-humouredly, 
"  between  you  and  your  daughter.  Come,  come,  be 
sensible ;  you  are  a  very  old  man.  Where  in  Zloc- 
zszolwill  you  find  a  superior  husband  for  your  child  }  " 

"The  Lord,  to  whom  she  is  consecrated,  forgive 
you  your  blasphemy,"  he  said,  in  a  changed  voice, 


220  BETHULAH 

and  rang  his  bell,  so  that  the  next  applicant  came  in 
and  I  had  to  go. 

It  was  plain  the  girl  was  kept  as  a  sacred  celibate, 
a  sort  of  vestal  virgin  —  Bethulah  was  the  very  He- 
brew for  virgin,  it  suddenly  flashed  upon  me.  But 
how  came  such  practices  into  Judaism  —  Judaism, 
with  its  cheery  creed,  "increase  and  multiply.'*" 
And  CJiassidism^  I  had  hitherto  imagined,  was  the 
cheeriness  of  Judaism  concentrated !  In  Yarchi's 
version  it  was  even  license  —  *'  the  Adamite  life."  I 
raked  up  my  memories  of  the  Bible  —  remembered 
Jephtha's  daughter.  But  no !  there  could  be  no 
question  of  a  vow ;  this  was  some  new  Chassidic 
mystery.  The  crown  and  the  shroud  !  The  shroud 
of  renunciation,  the  crown  of  victory  ! 

And  for  some  fantastic  shadow-myth  a  beautiful 
young  life  was  to  be  immolated.  My  respect  for 
Chassidism  vanished  as  suddenly  as  it  came. 

But  I  was  powerless,  I  could  only  wait  till  the 
flood  of  pilgrims  oozed  back,  even  as  the  waters  had 
done.  Then  perhaps  Bethulah  might  walk  again 
upon  the  moonlit  mountain-peak,  or  in  the  *'  house  of 
life,"  as  the  cemetery  was  mystically  called. 

The  penitential  season,  with  its  trumpets  and  ter- 
rors, judgment- writings  and  sealings,  was  over  at 
last,  and  Tabernacles  came  Hke  a  breath  of  air  and 
nature.  Yarchi  hammered  up  a  little  wooden  booth 
in  the  corner  of  his  front  garden,  and  hung  grapes 
and  oranges  and  flowers  from  its  loose  roof  of  boughs, 


BETHULAH  221 

through  which  the  stars  peeped  at  us  as  we  ate.  It 
struck  me  as  a  very  pretty  custom,  and  I  wondered 
why  American  Judaism  had  let  it  fall  into  desuetude. 
Ere  the  break-up  of  these  booths  the  pilgrims  had 
begun  to  melt  away,  the  old  sleepiness  to  fall  upon 
Zloczszol. 

Hence  I  was  startled  one  morning  by  the  passage 
of  a  joyous  procession  that  carried  torches  and  played 
on  flutes  and  tambourines.  I  ran  out  and  discovered 
that  I  was  part  of  a  wedding  procession  escorting  a 
bride.  As  this  was  a  company  not  of  Chassidun, 
but  of  everyday  Jews,  bound  for  the  little  Gothic 
synagogue,  I  was  surprised,  despite  my  experience 
of  the  Tabernacles,  to  find  such  picturesque  goings- 
on,  and  I  went  all  the  way  to  the  courtyard,  where 
the  rabbi  came  out  to  meet  us  with  the  bridegroom, 
who,  it  seemed,  had  already  been  conducted  hither 
with  parallel  pomp.  The  happy  youth  —  for  he 
could  only  have  been  sixteen  —  was  arrayed  in  festi- 
val finery,  with  white  shoes  on  his  feet  and  black 
phylacteries  on  his  forehead,  which  was  further  over- 
gloomed  by  a  cowl.  He  took  the  bride's  hand,  and 
then  we  all  threw  wheat  over  their  heads,  crying 
three  times,  ''Peru,  Urvu''  (Be  fruitful  and  multi- 
ply). But  just  when  I  expected  the  ceremony  to 
begin,  the  bride  was  snatched  away,  and  we  all  filed 
into  the  synagogue  to  await  her  return. 

I  had  fallen  into  a  mournful  reverie  —  perhaps  the 
suggestion  of  my  own  infelicitcAis  romance  was  too 


222  BETHULAH 

Strong  —  when  I  felt  a  stir  of  excitement  animating 
my  neighbours,  and,  looking  up,  lo !  I  saw  a  tall 
female  figure  in  a  white  shroud,  with  a  veiled  face, 
and  on  her  head  a  crown  of  roses  and  myrtles 
and  olive  branches.  A  shiver  ran  through  me. 
"  Bethulah  !  "  I  cried  half-aloud.  My  neighbours 
smiled,  and  as  I  continued  to  stare  at  the  figure,  I  saw 
it  was  only  the  bride,  thus  transmogrified  for  the 
wedding  canopy.  And  then  some  startling  half  corn- 
prehension  came  to  me.  Bethulah's  dress  was  a 
bride's  dress,  then.  She  was  made  to  appear  a  per- 
petual bride.  Of  whom  }  To  what  Cabalistic  mys- 
tery was  this  the  key }  The  Friday  night  hymn 
sprang  to  my  mind. 

"  Oh,  come,  my  beloved,  to  meet  the  Bride, 
The  face  of  the  Sabbath  let  us  welcome." 

For  a  moment  I  thought  I  held  the  solution,  and 
that  my  very  first  conjecture  had  been  warranted. 
The  Holy  Queen  Sabbath  was  also  typified  as  the 
Sabbath  Bride,  and  this  dual  allegory  it  was  that 
Bethulah  incarnated.  Or  perchance  it  was  Israel, 
the  Bride  of  God! 

But  I  was  still  dissatisfied.  I  felt  that  the  truth 
lay  deeper  than  a  mere  poetic  metaphor  or  a  poeti- 
cal masquerading.  I  discovered  it  at  last,  but  at  the 
risk  of  my  life. 


BETHULAH  223 


VI 


I  continued  to  walk  nightly  on  the  narrow  path 
between  the  mountain  and  the  river,  like  the  ghost 
of  one  drowned,  but  without  a  glimpse  of  Bethulah. 
At  last  it  grew  plain  that  her  father  had  warned  her 
against  me,  that  she  had  changed  the  hour  of  her 
exercise  and  soul-ascension,  or  even  the  place.  I  was 
indebted  to  accident  for  my  second  vision  of  this 
strange  creature. 

I  had  diverted  myself  by  visiting  the  neighbouring 
village,  a  refreshing  contrast  to  Jewish  Zloczszol, 
from  the  rough  garland-hung  wayside  crosses  (which 
were  like  sign-posts  to  its  gilt-towered  church)  to  the 
peasant  women  in  pink  aprons  and  top  boots. 

A  marvellous  sunset  was  well-nigh  over  as  I  struck 
the  river-side  that  curved  homewards.  The  bank  was 
here  very  steep,  the  river  running  as  between  cliffs. 
In  the  sky  great  drifts  of  gold-flushed  cloud  hung 
like  relics  of  the  glory  that  had  been,  and  the  autumn 
leaves  that  muffled  my  mare's  footsteps  seemed  to 
have  fallen  from  the  sunset.  In  the  background  the 
white  peak  of  the  mountain  was  slowly  parting  with 
its  volcanic  splendour.  And  low  on  the  horizon,  like 
a  small  lake  of  fire  in  the  heart  of  a  tangled  bush, 
the  molten  sun  showed  monstrous  and  dazzling. 

And  straight  from  the  sunset  over  the  red  leaves 
Bethulah  came  walking,  rapt  as  in  prophetic  thought, 


224  BETHULAH 

shrouded  and  crowned,  preceded  by  a  long  shadow 
that  seemed  almost  as  intangible. 

I  reined  in  my  horse  and  watched  the  apparition 
with  a  great  flutter  at  my  heart.  And  as  I  gazed, 
and  thought  of  her  grotesque  worshippers,  it  was 
borne  in  upon  me  how  unbefittingly  Nature  had 
peopled  her  splendid  planet.  The  pageantry  of 
dawn  and  sunset,  of  seas  and  mountains,  how  in- 
congruous a  framework  for  our  petty  breed,  sordidly 
crawling  under  the  stars.  Bethulah  alone  seemed 
fitted  to  the  high  setting  of  the  scene.  She  matched 
this  lone  icy  peak,  this  fiery  purity. 

"Bethulah!"  I  said,  as  she  was  almost  upon  my 
horse. 

She  looked  up,  and  a  little  cry  that  might  have 
been  joy  or  surprise  came  from  her  lips.  But  by  the 
smile  that  danced  in  her  eyes  and  the  blood  that 
leapt  to  her  cheeks,  I  saw  with  both  joy  and  surprise 
that  this  second  meeting  was  as  delightful  to  her  as 
to  me. 

But  the  conscious  Bethulah  hastened  to  efface 
what  the  unconscious  had  revealed.  "  It  is  not 
right  of  you,  stranger,  to  linger  here  so  long,"  she 
said,  frowning. 

*' I  am  your  shadow,"  I  replied,  "and  must  linger 
where  you  linger." 

"  But  you  are  indeed  a  shadow,  my  father  says 
—  a  being  fashioned  of  the  Poison  God  to  work 
us  woe." 


BE  THULAH  225 

"No,  no,"  I  said,  laughing;  ''my  horse  bears  no 
shadow.  And  the  Poison  God  who  fashioned  me 
is  not  the  absurd  horned  and  tailed  tempter  you 
have  been  taught  to  believe  in,  but  a  little  rosy- 
winged  god,  with  a  bow  and  poisoned  arrows." 

"  A  little  rosy-winged  god  .^  "  she  said.  "  I  know 
of  none  such." 

"And  you  know  not  of  what  you  are  queen,"  I 
retorted,  smiling. 

"There  is  but  one  God,"  she  insisted,  with  sweet 
seriousness.  "  See,  He  burns  in  the  bush,  yet  it  is 
not  consumed." 

She  pointed  to  where  the  red  sinking  sun  seemed 
to  eat  out  the  heart  of  the  bush  through  which 
we  saw  it. 

"Thus  this  love-god  burns  in  our  hearts,"  I  said, 
lifted  up  into  her  poetic  strain,  "and  we  are  not 
consumed,  only  glorified." 

I  strove  to  touch  her  hand,  which  had  dropped 
caressingly  on  my  horse's  neck.  But  she  drew  back 
with  a  cry. 

"  I  may  not  listen.  This  is  the  sinful  talk  my 
father  warned  me  of.  Fare  you  well,  stranger." 
And  with  swift  step  she  turned  homewards. 

I  sat  still  a  minute  or  two,  half-disconcerted,  half- 
content  to  gaze  at  her  gracious  motions ;  then  I 
touched  the  mare  with  my  heel,  and  she  bounded 
off  in  pursuit.  But  at  this  instant  three  men  in 
long  gabardines  and  great  round  velvet  hats  started 


226  BETHULAH 

forward  from  the  thicket,  shouting  and  waving 
lighted  pine-branches,  and  my  frightened  animal 
reared  and  plunged,  and  then  broke  into  a  mad 
gallop,  making  straight  for  the  river  curve  between 
the  cliffs.  I  threw  myself  back  in  the  saddle,  tug- 
ging desperately  at  the  creature's  mouth ;  but  I 
might  have  been  a  child  pulling  at  an  elephant. 
I  shook  my  feet  free  of  the  stirrups  and  prepared 
to  tumble  off  as  best  I  could,  rather  than  risk  the 
plunge  into  the  river,  when  a  projecting  bough 
made  me  duck  my  head  instinctively ;  but  as  I 
passed  under  it,  with  another  instinctive  movement 
I  threw  out  my  hands  to  clasp  it,  and,  despite  a 
violent  wrench  that  seemed  to  pull  my  arms  out 
of  their  sockets  and  swung  my  feet  high  forward, 
I  hung  safely.  The  mare,  eased  of  my  weight, 
was  at  the  river-side  the  next  instant,  and  with  a 
wild,  incredible  leap  alighted  with  her  forefeet  and 
the  bulk  of  her  body  on  the  other  bank,  up  which 
she  scraped  convulsively,  and  then  stood  still,  trem- 
bling and  sweating.  I  could  not  get  at  her,  so, 
trusting  she  would  find  her  way  home  safely,  I 
dropped  to  the  ground  and  ran  back,  with  a  mixed 
idea  of  finding  Bethulah  and  chastising  the  three 
scoundrels.     But  all  were  become  invisible. 

I  walked  half  a  mile  across  the  plain  to  get  to 
the  rough  pine  bridge ;  and,  once  on  the  other 
bank,  I  had  no  difficulty  in .  recovering  the  mare. 
She  cantered  up  to  me,  indeed,  and  put  her  soft  and 


BETHULAH  227 

Still  perspiring  nose  in  my  palm  and  whinnied  her 
apologetic    congratulations   on  our   common  escape. 

I  rode  slowly  home,  reflecting  on  the  new  turn 
in  my  love  affairs,  for  it  was  plain  that  Bethulah 
had  now  been  provided  with  a  body-guard,  of  which 
she  was  as  unconscious  as  of  her  body  itself. 

But  for  the  apparent  necessity  of  her  making 
soul-ascensions  under  God's  heaven,  I  supposed  she 
would  not  have  been  allowed  to  take  the  air  at  all 
with  such  a  creature  of  Satan  hovering. 

I  stood^  sunning  myself  the  next  day  on  the 
same  pine  bridge,  looking  down  on  the  swift  cur- 
rent, and  regretting  there  was  no  rail  to  lean  on 
as  one  watched  the  fascinating  flow  of  the  beauti- 
ful river.  It  struck  me  as  inordinately  blue,  —  per- 
haps, I  analyzed,  by  contrast  with  the  long,  sinuous 
weeds  which  here  glided  and  tossed  in  the  current 
like  green  water-snakes.  These  flexible  greens  re- 
minded me  of  the  Wonder  Rabbi's  eyes  and  his 
emerald  seal ;  and  I  turned,  with  some  sudden  pre- 
monition of  danger,  just  in  time  to  dodge  the 
attack  of  the  same  three  ruffians,  who  must  have 
been  about  to  push  me  over. 

In  an  instant  I  had  whipped  out  my  pistol  from 
my  hip  pocket,  and  cried,  "  Stand,  or  I  fire !  " 

The  trio  froze  instantly  in  odd  attitudes,  which 
was  lucky,  as  my  pistol  was  unloaded.  They  looked 
almost  comical  in  their  air  of  abject  terror.  Their 
narrow,  fanatical    foreheads,  with    ringlets   of    piety 


228  BETHULAH 

hanging  down  below  the  velvet,  fur-trimmed  hats, 
showed  them  more  accustomed  to  murdering  texts 
than  men.  Had  I  not  been  still  smouldering  over 
yesterday's  trick,  I  could  have  pitied  them  for  the 
unwelcome  job  thrust  upon  their  unskilled  and  ap- 
parently even  unweaponed  hands  by  the  machina- 
tions of  the  Poison  God  and  the  orders  of  Ben  David. 
One  of  them  seemed  quite  elderly,  and  one  quite 
young.  The  middle-aged  one  had  a  goitre,  and  per- 
haps that  made  me  fancy  him  the  most  sinister,  and 
keep  my  eye  most  warily  upon  him. 

"  Sons  of  Belial,"  I  said,  recalling  a  biblical  phrase 
that  might  be  expected  to  prick,  "  why  do  you  seek 
my  life  V 

Two  of  them  cowered  under  my  gaze,  but  the 
elderly  Chassid,  seeing  the  shooting  was  postponed, 
spoke  up  boldly  :  "We  are  no  sons  of  Belial.  You 
are  the  begotten  of  Satan ;  you  are  the  arch  enemy 
of  Israel." 

"  I .'' "  I  protested  in  my  turn.  "  I  am  a  plain 
God-fearing  son  of  Abraham." 

"A  precious  scion  of  the  Patriarch's  seed,  who 
would  delay  the  coming  of  the  Messiah  !  " 

Again  that  incomprehensible  accusation. 

"  You  speak  riddles,"  I  said. 

"  How  so  1  Did  you  not  tell  Ben  David — his  horn 
be  exalted — that  you  knew  all  concerning  Bethulah  ? 
Then  must  you  know  that  of  her  immaculacy  will 
the  Messiah  be  born,  one  ninth  of  Ab." 


BETHULAH  229 

A  flood  of  light  burst  upon  me  —  mystic,  yet  clari- 
fying; blinding,  yet  dissipating  my  darkness.  My 
pistol  drooped  in  my  hand.  My  head  swam  with  a 
whirl  of  strange  thoughts,  and  Bethulah,  already 
divine  to  me,  took  on  a  dazzling  aureola,  sailed  away 
into  some  strange  supernatural  ether. 

''Have  we  not  been  in  exile  long  enough.''"  said 
the  youngest.  ''  Shall  a  godless  stranger  tamper 
with  the  hope  of  generations.?" 

"  But  whence  this  mad  hope  .?  "  I  said,  struggling 
under  the  mystic  obsession  of  his  intensity. 

"  Mad } "  began  the  first,  his  eyes  spitting  fire ; 
but  the  younger  interrupted  him. 

"  Is  not  our  saint  the  sole  scion  of  the  house  of 
David  t     Is  not  his  daughter  the  last  of  the  race  1 " 

"  And  what  if  she  is  }  " 

"  Then  who  but  she  can  be  the  destined  mother  of 
Israel's  Redeemer } " 

The  goitred  Chassid  opened  his  lips  and  added, 
"  If  not  now,  when  .?  as  Hillel  asked." 

"  In  our  days  at  last  must  come  the  crowning  glory 
of  the  house  of  Ben  David,"  the  young  man  went  on. 
"For  generations  now,  since  the  signs  have  pointed 
to  the  millennium,  have  the  daughters  of  the  house 
been  kept  unwedded." 

"  What !  "  I  cried.  "  Generations  of  Bethulahs 
have  been  sacrificed  to  a  dream  !  " 

Again  the  eyes  of  the  first  Chassid  dilated  danger- 
ously.    I  raised  my  pistol,  but  hastened  to  ask,  in  a 


230  BETHULAH 

more  conciliatory  tune,  "  Then  how  has  the  line  been 
carried  on  ? " 

"Through  the  sons,  of  course,"  said  the  young 
Chassid,  *'  Now  for  the  first  time  there  are  no  sons, 
and  only  one  daughter  remains,  the  manifest  vessel 
of  salvation." 

I  tried  to  call  up  that  image  of  bustling  Broadway 
that  had  braced  me  in  colloquy  with  the  old  Wonder 
Rabbi,  but  it  seemed  shadowy  now,  compared  with 
this  world  of  solid  spiritualities  which  begirt  me. 
Could  it  be  the  same  planet  on  which  such  things 
went  on  simultaneously  ?  Or  perhaps  I  was  dream- 
ing, and  these  three  grotesque  creatures  were  the 
product  of  Yarchi's  cookery. 

But  their  hanging  curls  had  a  daylight  definite- 
ness,  and  down  in  the  sunlit,  translucent  river  I  could 
see  every  shade  of  colour,  from  the  green  of  the  sinu- 
ous reed-snakes  to  the  brown  of  the  moss  patches. 

On  the  bank  walked  two  crows,  and  I  noted  for  the 
first  time  with  what  comic  pomposity  they  paced, 
their  bodies  bent  forward  like  two  important  old 
gentlemen  with  their  hands  in  the  pockets  of  their 
black  coat  tails.  They  brought  a  smile  to  my  face, 
but  a  menacing  movement  of  the  Chassidim  warned 
me  to  be  careful. 

"  And  does  the  girl  know  all  this  .'* "  I  asked 
hurriedly. 

*'  She  did  not  yesterday,"  said  the  elderly  fellow. 
"  Now  she  has  been  told." 


BETH  U LA  H  231 

There  was  another  long  pause.  I  meditated  rapidly 
but  disjointedly,  having  to  keep  an  eye  against 
a  sudden  rush  of  my  assailants,  and  mistrusting 
the  goitred  saint  yet  the  more  because  he  was  so 
silent. 

"And  is  Bethulah  content  with  her  destiny.?"  I 
asked. 

*'  She  is  in  the  seventh  heaven,"  said  the  elderly 
saint. 

I  had  a  poignant  shudder  of  incredulous  protest. 
I  recalled  the  flush  of  her  sweet  face  at  the  sight  of 
me,  and  brief  as  our  meetings  had  been,  I  dared  to 
feel  that  the  irrevocable  thrill  had  passed  between 
us ;  that  the  rest  would  have  been  only  a  question  of 
time. 

"Let  Bethulah  tell  me  so  herself,"  I  cried,  "and  I 
will  leave  her  in  her  heaven." 

The  men  looked  at  one  another.  Then  the  eldest 
shook  his  head.  "  No  ;  you  shall  never  speak  to  her 
again." 

"  We  have  maidens  more  beautiful  among  us," 
said  the  young  man.  "You  shall  have  your  choice. 
Ay,  even  my  own  betrothed  would  I  give  you." 

I  flicked  aside  his  suggestion.  "But  you  cannot 
prevent  Bethulah  walking  under  God's  heaven." 
They  looked  dismayed.  "  I  will  meet  her,"  I  said, 
pursuing  my  advantage.  "And  Yarchi  and  other 
good  Jews  shall  be  at  hand." 

"  She  shall  be  removed  elsewhere,"  said  the  first. 


232  BETHULAH 

"I  will  track  her  down.  Ah,  you  are  afraid,"  I 
said  mockingly.  "  You  see  it  is  not  true  that  she  is 
content  to  be  immolated." 

"  It  is  true,"  they  muttered. 

"  True  as  the  Torah,"  added  the  elderly  man. 

"  Then  there  is  no  harm  in  her  telling  me  so." 

"  You  may  bear  her  off  on  your  horse,"  said  he  of 
the  goitre. 

"  I  will  go  on  foot.  Let  her  bid  me  go  away,  and 
I  will  leave  Zloczszol." 

Again  they  looked  at  one  another,  and  the  relief 
in  their  eyes  brought  heart-sinking  into  mine.  Yes, 
it  was  true.  Bethulah  was  in  the  glow  of  a  great 
surrender;  she  was  still  tingling  with  the  revelation 
of  her  supreme  destiny.  To  put  her  to  the  test  now 
would  be  fatal.  No ;  let  her  have  time  to  meditate ; 
ay,  even  to  disbelieve. 

''  To-morrow  you  shall  speak  with  her,  and  no  man 
shall  know,"  said  the  oldest  Chassid. 

"  No,  not  to-morrow.     In  a  week  or  two." 

"Ah,  you  wish  to  Hnger  among  us,"  he  replied 
suspiciously. 

'*  I  will  go  away  till  the  appointed  day,"  I  replied 
readily. 

"  Good.  Continue  your  travels.  Let  us  say  a 
month,  or  even  two." 

"  If  you  will  not  spirit  her  away  in  my  absence." 

"  It  is  as  easy  to  do  so  in  your  presence." 

*'  So  be  it." 


BETH  UL  AH  233 

"Shall  we  say — the  eve  of  Chanukah?"  he  sug- 
gested. 

It  was  my  turn  to  regard  him  suspiciously.  But  I 
could  see  nothing  to  cavil  at.  He  had  merely  men- 
tioned an  obvious  date  —  that  of  the  next  festival 
landmark.  Chanukah  —  the  feast  of  rededication  of 
the  Temple  after  the  Grecian  pollution  —  the  miracle 
of  the  unwaning  oil,  the  memorial  lighting  of  lights ; 
there  seemed  nothing  in  these  to  work  unduly  upon 
the  girl's  soul,  except  in  so  far  as  the  inspiring  tradi- 
tion of  Judas  Maccabaeus  might  attach  her  more  de- 
votedly to  her  conceptions  of  duty  and  self-dedica- 
tion. Perhaps,  I  thought,  with  a  flash  of  jealous 
anger,  they  meditated  a  feast  of  rededication  of  her 
after  the  pollution  of  my  presence  had  been  removed. 
Well,  we  should  see. 

"  The  eve  of  Chanukah,"  I  agreed,  with  a  noncha- 
lant air.  "  Only  let  the  place  be  where  I  first  met 
her  —  the  path  'twixt  mountain  and  river  as  you  go 
to  the  cemetery." 

That  would  at  least  be  a  counter-influence  to 
Chanukah!  As  they  understood  none  of  the  sub- 
tleties of  love,  they  agreed  to  this,  and  I  made  them 
swear  by  the  Name. 

When  they  went  their  way  I  stood  pondering  on 
the  bridge,  my  empty  pistol  drooping  in  my  hand, 
till  sky  and  river  glowed  mystically  as  with  blood, 
and  the  chill  evening  airs  reminded  me  that  Novem- 
ber was  nigh. 


234  BETHULAH 

VII 

I  got  to  Warsaw  and  back  in  the  time  at  my  dis- 
posal, but  not  all  the  freshness  and  variety  of  my 
experiences  could  banish  the  thought  of  Bethulah. 
There  were  days  when  I  could  absorb  myself  in  the 
passing  panorama,  but  I  felt  always,  so  to  speak,  in 
the  ante-chamber  of  the  great  moment  of  our  third 
and  decisive  meeting. 

And  with  every  shortening  day  of  December  that 
moment  approached.  Yet  I  all  but  missed  it  when  it 
came.  A  snowfall  I  might  easily  have  foreseen  re- 
tarded my  journey  at  the  eleventh  hour,  but  my 
faithful  mare  ploughed  her  way  through  the  white 
morasses.  As  she  munched  her  mid-day  corn  in  that 
quaint  Christian  village  that  neighboured  Zloczszdl, 
and  in  which  I  had  agreed  to  stable  her,  it  was  borne 
in  on  me  for  the  first  time  that  the  eve  of  Chanukah 
was  likewise  Christmas  eve.  I  wondered  vaguely  if 
there  was  any  occult  significance  in  the  coincidence 
or  in  the  Chassidic  choice  of  dates ;  but  it  was  too 
late  now  to  protest,  and  loading  my  pistol  against  foul 
play,  I  hurried  to  the  rendezvous. 

On  the  dark  barren  base  of  the  mountain,  patches 
of  snow  gleamed  like  winter  blossoms  ;  the  gargoyle- 
like faces  of  the  jags  of  rock  on  the  river-bank 
were  white-bearded  with  icicles.  Down  below  the 
stream  raced,  apparently  as  turbid  as  ever,  but  sud- 
denly, as  it  made  a  sharp  curve  and  came  under  a 


BETHULAH  286 

thick  screen  of  snow-laden  boughs  interarching  over 
the  cleft,  it  grew  glazed  in  death. 

The  sight  of  Bethulah  was  as  of  a  spirit  of  sun- 
shine moving  across  the  white  desolation.  Her  tall 
lone  shadow  fell  blue  upon  the  snowy  path.  She  was 
swathed  now  in  splendid  silver  furs,  from  which  her 
face  shone  out  like  a  tropical  flower  beneath  its 
wreathed  crown. 

Dignity  and  sovereignty  had  subtly  replaced  the 
grace  of  her  movement,  her  very  stature  seemed  ag- 
grandized by  the  consciousness  of  her  unique  mis- 
sion. 

She  turned,  and  her  virginal  eyes  met  mine  with 
abashing  purity,  and  in  that  instant  of  anguished 
rapture  I  knew  that  my  quest  was  vain.  The  deli- 
cate flush  of  joy  and  surprise  touched  her  cheeks,  in- 
deed, as  before,  but  this  time  I  felt  it  would  not  be 
succeeded  by  terror.  Self-conscious  now,  self-poised, 
she  stood  regally  where  she  had  faltered  and  fled. 

"You  return  to  spend  Chanukah  with  us,"  she  said. 

"I  came,"  I  said,  with  uneasy  bravado,  "in  the 
hope  of  spending  it  elsewhere  —  with  you." 

"  But  you  know  that  cannot  be,"  she  said  gently. 

Ah,  now  she  knew  of  what  she  was  queen.  But 
revolt  was  hot  in  my  heart. 

"  Then  they  have  made  you  share  their  dream,"  I 
said  bitterly. 

"Yes,"  she  rephed,  with  unruffled  sweetness. 
"How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of 


236  BETHULAH 

those  that  bring  good  tidings  !  "  And  her  eyes  shone 
in  exultation. 

"They  were  messengers  of  evil,"  I  said  —  "whis- 
perers of  untruth.     Life  is  for  love  and  joy." 

"Ah,  no!"  she  urged  tremulously.  "Surely  you 
know  the  world  —  how  full  it  is  of  suffering  and  sin." 
And  as  with  an  unconscious  movement,  she  threw 
back  her  splendid  furs,  reveahng  the  weird  shroud. 
"  Ah,  what  ecstasy  to  think  that  the  divine  day  will 
come,  ere  I  am  old,  when,  as  it  is  written  in  the 
twenty-fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  ^  He  will  destroy  in 
this  mountain  the  face  of  the  covering  cast  over  all 
people,  and  the  vail  that  is  spread  over  all  nations. 
He  will  swallozv  np  death  in  victory :  and  the  Lord 
God  will  ivipe  away  tears  from  off  all  faces  ;  and  the 
rebuke  of  His  people  shall  He  take  away  frojn  off  all 
the  earth :  for  the  Lord  hath  spoken'  " 

Her  own  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  which  I  yearned 
to  kiss  away. 

"  But  your  own  life  meantime  }  "  I  said  softly. 

"  My  life — does  it  not  already  take  on  the  glory 
of  God  as  this  mountain  the  coming  day  ? " 

She  seemed  indeed  akin  to  the  cold  white  peak  as 
I  had  seen  it  flushed  with  sunrise.  My  passion 
seemed  suddenly  prosaic  and  selfish.  I  was  Hfted  up 
into  the  higher  love  that  worships  and  abnegates. 

"  God  bless  you ! "  I  said,  and  turning  away  with 
misty  vision,  saw,  creeping  off,  the  three  dark  fanati- 
cal figures. 


BETHULAH  287 

VIII 

Half  a  century  later  I  was  startled  to  find  the  name 
of  Zloczszol  in  a  headline  of  the  Sunday  edition  of 
my  American  paper. 

I  had  married,  and  was  even  a  grandfather ;  for 
after  my  return  to  America  the  world  of  Bethulah 
had  grown  fantastic,  stupidly  superstitious,  and, 
finally,  shadowy  and  almost  unreal.  Years  and  years 
of  happiness  had  dissipated  and  obliterated  the  deli- 
cate fragrant  dream  of  spiritual  love. 

But  that  strange  long-forgotten  name  stirred  in- 
stantly the  sleeping  past  to  life.  I  adjusted  my  specta- 
cles and  read  the  column  eagerly.  It  was  sensational 
enough,  though  not  more  so  than  a  hundred  columns 
of  calamities  in  unknown  places  that  one  skips  or 
reads  with  the  mildest  of  thrills. 

The  long- threatened  avalanche  had  fallen,  and 
Nature  had  once  more  rudely  reminded  man  of  his 
puny  place  in  creation.  Rare  conditions  had  at  last 
come  together.  First  a  slight  fall  of  snow,  covering 
the  mountain  —  how  vividly  I  pictured  it !  —  then  a 
sharp  frost  which  had  frozen  this  deposit ;  after  that 
a  measureless,  blinding  snow-storm  and  a  cyclonic 
wind.  When  all  seemed  calm  again,  the  second 
mass  of  snow  had  begun  to  slide  down  the  frozen 
surface  of  the  first,  quickening  to  a  terrific  pace, 
tearing  down  the  leafless  trunks  and  shooting  them 
at  the  village  like  giant  arrows  of  the  angry  gods. 


238  BETHULAH 

One  of  these  arrows  penetrated  the  trunk  of  a  great 
cedar  on  the  plain  and  stuck  out  on  both  sides, 
making  a  sort  of  cross,  which  the  curious  came  from 
far  and  near  to  see.  But,  alas !  the  avalanche  had 
not  contented  itself  with  such  freakish  manifes- 
tations ;  it  had  annihilated  the  new  portion  of  the 
village  which  had  dared  crawl  nearer  the  mountain 
when  the  railroad  —  a  railroad  in  Zloczszol !  —  had 
found  it  cheaper  to  pass  near  the  base  than  to  make 
a  circuit  round  the  congested  portion  ! 

Alas !  the  cheapness  was  illusory.  The  depot 
with  its  crowd  had  been  wiped  out  as  by  the  offended 
Fury  of  the  mountain ;  though  by  another  freakish 
incident,  illustrating  the  Titanic  forces  at  work,  yet 
the  one  redeeming  detail  of  the  appalling  catastrophe, 
a  small  train  of  three  carriages  that  had  just  moved 
off  was  lifted  up  bodily  by  the  terrible  wind  that  raced 
ahead  of  the  monstrous  sliding  snowball,  and  was 
clapped  down  in  a  field  out  of  its  reach,  as  if  by  a 
protecting  hand.     Not  a  creature  on  it  was  injured. 

I  had  passed  the  years  allotted  to  man  by  the 
Psalmist,  and  my  memory  of  the  things  of  yesterday 
had  begun  to  be  faint  and  elusive,  but  the  images 
of  my  Zloczszol  adventure  returned  with  a  vividness 
that  grew  daily  more  possessive.  What  had  become 
of  Bethulah  .?  Was  she  alive  .?  Was  she  dead  }  And 
which  were  the  sadder  alternative  —  to  have  felt  the 
darkness  of  early  death  closing  round  the  great  hope, 
or   to    have    survived   its    possibility,  and  old,  bent, 


BETHULAH  239 

bitter,  and  deserted  by  her  followers,  to  await  the 
lesser  disenchantment  of  the  grave? 

An  irresistible  instinct  impelled  me  —  aged  as  I 
was  myself  —  to  revisit  alone  these  scenes  cf  my 
youth,  to  see  how  fate  had  rounded  or  broken  off 
its  grim  ironic  story. 

I  pass  over  the  stages  of  the  journey,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  which  I  found  myself  again  in  the  moun- 
tain village.  Alas !  The  changes  on  the  route  had 
prepared  me  for  the  change  in  Zloczszol.  Railroads 
threw  their  bridges  over  the  gorges  I  had  climbed, 
telegraph  poles  tamed  the  erst  savage  forest  ways. 
And  Zloczszol  itself  had  now,  by  the  line  passing 
through  it,  expanded  into  a  trading  centre,  with 
vitality  enough  to  recuperate  quickly  from  the  ava- 
lanche. The  hotel  was  clean  and  commodious,  but 
I  could  better  have  endured  that  ancient  sitting-room 
in  which  the  squalling  baby  was  rocked.  Strange, 
I  could  see  its  red  wrinkled  face,  catch  the  very 
timbre  of  its  piping  cries !  Only  the  mountain  was 
unchanged,  and  the  pines  and  firs  that  had  whispered 
dreams  to  my  youth  whispered  sleep  to  my  age.  Ah, 
how  frail  and  futile  is  the  life  of  man !  He  passes 
like  a  shadow,  and  the  green  sunlit  earth  he  trod  on 
closes  over  him  and  takes  the  tread  of  the  new  gener- 
ations. What  had  I  to  say  to  these  new,  smart 
people  in  Zloczszol }  No,  the  dead  were  my  gossips 
and  neighbours.  For  me  more  than  the  avalanche 
had  desolated  Zloczszol.     I  repaired  to  the  cemetery. 


240  BETHULAH 

There  I  should  find  Yarchi.  It  was  no  use  looking 
for  him  under  the  porch  of  the  pine  cottage.  And 
there,  too,  I  should  in  all  likeHhood  find  Bethulah ! 

But  Ben  David's  tomb  was  the  first  I  found,  carved 
with  the  intersecting  triangles.  The  date  showed 
he  had  died  very  soon  after  my  departure ;  perhaps, 
I  thought  remorsefully,  my  importunities  had  agi- 
tated him  too  much.  Ah !  there  at  last  was  Yarchi. 
Under  a  high  white  stone  he  slept  as  soundly  as  any 
straight  corpse.  His  sneering  mouth  had  crumbled 
to  dust,  but  I  would  have  given  much  to  hear  it  once 
more  abuse  the  Chassidim.  Propped  on  my  stick 
and  poring  over  the  faded  gilt  letters,  I  recalled  ''  the 
handsome  stranger"  whom  the  years  had  marred. 
But  of  Bethulah  I  saw  no  sign.  I  wandered  back 
and  found  the  turreted  house,  but  it  had  been  con- 
verted into  a  large  store,  and  from  Bethulah's  turret 
window  hung  a  great  advertising  sky-sign. 

I  returned  cheerlessly  to  the  hotel,  but  as  the  sun 
began  to  pierce  auspiciously  through  the  bleakness 
of  early  March,  I  was  about  to  sally  forth  again  in  the 
direction  of  Yarchi's  ancient  cottage,  when  the  porter 
directed  me  —  as  if  I  were  a  mere  tourist  —  to  go  to 
see  the  giant  cedar  of  Lebanon  with  its  Titanic  arrow. 
However,  I  followed  his  instructions,  and  pretty  soon 
I  espied  the  broad-girthed  tree  towering  over  its  field, 
with  the  foreign  transpiercing  trunk  about  fifteen 
feet  from  the  ground,  making  indeed  a  vast  cross. 
Leaning  against  the  sunlit  cedar  was  a  white-robed 


BETHULAH  241 

figure,  and  as  I  hobbled  nearer  I  saw  by  the  shroud 
and  the  crown  of  flowers  that  I  had  found  Bethu- 
lah. 

At  my  approach  she  drew  herself  up  in  statuesque 
dignity,  upright  as  Ben  David  of  yore,  and  looked  at 
me  with  keen  unclouded  eyes.  There  was  a  won- 
drous beauty  of  old  age  in  her  face  and  bearing. 
The  silver  hair  banded  on  the  temples  glistened 
picturesquely  against  the  reds  and  greens  and  golds 
of  her  crown. 

"Ah,  stranger ! "  she  said,  with  a  gracious  smile. 
"You  return  to  us." 

"You  recognize  me.?  "  I  mumbled,  in  amaze. 

"  It  is  the  face  I  loved  in  youth,"  she  said  simply. 

Strange,  happy,  wistful  tears  sprang  to  my  old  eyes 
—  some  blurred  sense  of  youth  and  love  and  God. 

"Your  youth  seems  with  you  still,"  I  said.  "Your 
face  is  as  sweet,  your  voice  as  full  of  music." 

The  old  ecstatic  look  lit  up  her  eyes.  "  It  is  God 
who  keeps  me  ever  young,  till  the  great  day  dawns." 

I  was  taken  aback.  What !  She  believed  still ! 
That  alternative  had  not  figured  in  my  prevision  of 
pathetic  closes.  I  was  silent,  but  the  old  tumult  of 
thought  raged  within  me. 

"  But  is  not  the  day  passed  forever }  "  I  murmured 
at  last. 

The  light  in  her  eyes  became  queenly  fire. 

"While  there  is  life,"  she  cried,  "in  the  veins  of  the 
house  of    Ben  David  !  "     And  as  she  spoke  my  eye 


242  BETHULAH 

caught  the  gleam  of  the  Persian  emerald  on  her  fore- 
finger. 

"And  your  worshippers  —  what  of  them?  "  I  asked. 

Her  eyes  grew  sad.  *'After  my  father's  death  — 
his  memory  for  a  blessing !  —  the  pilgrims  fell  off, 
and  when  the  years  passed  without  the  miracle,  his 
followers  even  here  in  Zloczszol  began  to  weaken. 
And  slowly  a  new  generation  arose,  impatient  and 
lax,  which  believed  not  in  the  faith  of  their  forefathers 
and  mocked  my  footsteps,  saying,  *  Behold !  the 
dreamer  cometh  ! '  And  then  the  black  fire-monster 
came,  whizzing  daily  to  and  fro  on  the  steel  lines  and 
breathing  out  fumes  of  unfaith,  and  the  young  men 
said  lo  !  there  is  our  true  Redeemer.  Wherefore,  as 
the  years  waxed  and  waned,  until  at  last  advancing 
Death  threw  his  silver  shadow  on  my  hair,  even  the 
faithful  grew  to  doubt,  and  they  said,  *  But  a  few  short 
years  more  and  death  must  claim  her,  her  mission 
unfulfilled,  and  the  lamp  of  Israel's  hope  shattered 
forever.  Perchance  it  is  we  that  have  misunderstood 
the  prophecies.  Not  here,  not  here,  shall  God's  great 
miracle  be  wrought ;  this  is  not  holy  ground.  "  For 
the  Lord  dwelleth  in  Zion," '  they  cried  with  the 
Prophets.  Only  on  the  sacred  soil,  outside  of  which 
God  has  never  revealed  himself,  only  in  Palestine, 
they  said,  can  Israel's  Redeemer  be  born.  As  it 
is  written,  *  But  upon  Mount  Zion  shall  be  deliver- 
ance, and  there  shall  be  holiness.' 

"  Then  these  and  the  scoffers  persuaded  me,  seeing 


BETHULAH  243 

that  I  waxed  very  old,  and  I  sold  my  father's  house  — 
now  grown  of  high  value  —  to  obtain  the  money  for 
the  journey,  and  I  made  ready  to  start  for  Jerusalem. 
There  had  been  a  whirlwind  and  a  great  snow  the 
day  before  and  I  would  have  tarried,  but  they  said  I 
must  arrive  in  the  Holy  City  ere  the  eve  of  Chanu- 
kah.  And  putting  off  my  shroud  and  my  crown, 
seeing  that  only  in  Jerusalem  I  might  be  a  bride,  I 
trusted  myself  to  the  fire-monster,  and  a  vast  com- 
pany went  with  me  to  the  starting-place  —  both  of 
those  who  believed  that  salvation  was  of  Zion  and 
those  who  scoffed.  But  the  monster  had  scarcely 
crawled  out  under  God's  free  heaven  than  God's 
hand  lifted  me  up  and  those  with  me  —  for  my  bless- 
edness covered  them  —  and  put  us  down  very  far  off, 
while  a  great  white  thunder-bolt  fell  upon  the  build- 
ing and  upon  the  scoffers  and  upon  those  who  had 
prated  of  Zion,  and  behold !  they  were  not.  The 
multitude  of  Moab  was  as  straw  trodden  down  for 
the  dunghill,  and  the  high  fort  of  the  fire-monster 
was  brought  down  and  laid  low  and  brought  to  the 
ground,  even  to  the  dust.  Then  arose  a  great  cry 
from  all  the  town  and  the  mountain,  and  a  rending  of 
garments  and  a  weeping  in  sackcloth.  And  many  re- 
turned to  the  faith  in  me,  for  God's  hand  has  shown 
that  here,  and  not  elsewhere,  is  the  miracle  to  be 
wrought.  As  it  is  written,  word  for  word,  in  the 
twenty-fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah  :  — 

'''And  He  will  destroy  m  this  mountain  the  face 


244  BETHULAH 

of  the  covering  cast  over  all  people,  and  the  vail 
that  is  spread  over  all  nations.  He  will  swallow  up 
death  in  victory ;  and  the  Lord  God  shall  wipe  away 
tears  from  off  all  faces :  and  the  rebuke  of  His  people 
shall  He  take  away  from  off  all  the  earth :  for  the 
Lord  hath  spoken  it.  And  it  shall  be  said  in  that 
day,  Loy  this  is  our  God ;  we  have  waited  for  Him, 
and  He  will  save  us :  this  is  the  Lord ;  we  have  waited 
for  Him,  ive  will  be  glad  and  rejoice  in  His  salvation. 
For  in  this  mountain  shall  the  hand  of  the  Lord  rest, 
and  Moab  shall  be  trodden  down  under  Him,,  even  as 
straw  is  trodden  down  for  the  du7ighill.  And  He 
shall  spread  forth  His  hands  in  the  midst  of  them, 
as  he  that  swimmeth  spreadeth  forth  to  swim:  and  He 
shall  bring  down  their  pride  together  with  the  spoils 
of  their  hands.  And  the  fortress  of  the  high  fort  of  thy 
walls  shall  He  bring  down,  lay  low,  and  bring  to  the 
ground,  even  to  the  dust.' 

"  And  here  in  this  cedar  of  Lebanon,  transplanted 
like  Israel  under  the  shadow  of  this  alien  mountain, 
the  Lord  has  shot  a  bolt,  for  a  sign  to  all  that  can 
read.  And  here  I  come  daily  to  pray,  and  to  await 
the  divine  moment." 

She  ceased,  and  her  eyes  turned  to  the  now  stain- 
less heaven.  And  as  I  gazed  upon  her  shining  face 
it  seemed  to  me  that  the  fresh  flowers  and  leaves  of 
her  crown,  still  wet  with  the  dew,  seen  against  that 
garment  of  death  and  the  silver  of  decaying  life,  were 
symbolic  of  an  undying,  ever  rejuvenescent  hope. 


BETHULAH  245 

IX 

A  last  surprise  awaited  me.  Bethulah  now  lived 
all  alone  in  Yarchi's  pine  cottage,  which  the  years 
had  left  untouched. 

Whether  accident  or  purpose  settled  her  there  I 
do,  not  know,  but  my  heart  was  overcharged  with 
mingled  emotion  as  I  went  up  the  garden  the  next 
day  to  pay  her  a  farewell  visit.  The  poppies  flaunted 
riotously  amid  the  neglected  maize,  but  the  cottage 
itself  seemed  tidy. 

It  was  the  season  when  the  cold  wrinkled  lips  of 
winter  meet  the  first  kiss  of  spring,  and  death  is 
passing  into  resurrection.  It  was  the  hour  when 
the  chill  shadows  steal  upon  the  sunlit  day.  In  the 
sky  was  the  shot  purple  of  a  rolling  moor,  merging 
into  a  glow  of  lovely  green. 

I  stood  under  the  porch  where  Yarchi  had  been 
wont  to  sun  and  snuff  himself,  and  knocked  at  the 
door,  but  receiving  no  answer,  I  lifted  the  latch  softly 
and  looked  in. 

Bethulah  was  at  her  little  table,  her  head  lying  on 
a  great  old  Bible  which  her  arms  embraced.  One 
long  finger  of  departing  sunlight  pointed  through 
the  window  and  touched  the  flowers  on  the  gray 
hair.  I  stole  in  with  a  cold  fear  that  she  was  dead. 
But  she  seemed  only  asleep,  with  that  sleep  of  old 
age  which  is  so  near  to  death  and  is  yet  the  renewal 
of  life. 


246  BETHULAH 

I  was  curious  to  see  what  she  had  been  reading. 
It  was  the  eighteenth  chapter  of  Genesis,  and  in  the 
shadow  of  her  crown  ran  the  verses :  — 

**  And  the  Lord  said  unto  Abraham,  Wherefore  did 
Sarah  laugh,  saying,  Shalt  I  of  a  surety  bear  a  childy 
which  am  old? 

^^  Is  anything  too  hard  for  the  Lord?  '* 


VII 
THE   KEEPER   OF   CONSCIENCE 


VII 

THE   KEEPER   OF   CONSCIENCE 

I 

Sal  VINA  Brill  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  dingy 
Hackney  Terrace,  waiting  till  her  mother  should 
return  with  the  house-key.  So  far  as  change  of 
scene  was  concerned  the  little  pupil-teacher  might 
as  well  have  stood  still.  Everywhere  bow-windows, 
Venetian  blinds,  little  front  gardens  —  all  that  had 
represented  domestic  grandeur  to  her  after  a  child- 
hood of  apartments  in  Spitalfields,  though  her  sub- 
sequent glimpse  of  the  West  End  home  in  which  her 
sister  Kitty  was  governess,  had  made  her  dazedly 
aware  of  Alps  beyond  Alps. 

Though  only  seventeen,  Salvina  was  not  superfi- 
cially sweet  and  could  win  no  consideration  from  the 
seated  males  in  the  homeward  train,  and  the  heat  of 
the  weather  and  the  crush  of  humanity — high  hats 
sandwiched  between  workmen's  tool-baskets  —  had 
made  her  head  ache.  Her  day  at  the  Whitechapel 
school  had  already  been  trying,  and  Thursday  was 
always  heavy  with  the  accumulated  fatigues  of  the 
week.  It  was  unfortunate  that  her  mother  should 
be  late,  but  she  remembered  how  at  breakfast  the 

249 


250  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

good  creature  had  promised  father  to  make  a  little 
excursion  to  the  Borough  and  take  a  packet  of  tea 
to  the  house  of  some  distant  relatives  of  his,  who 
were  sitting  shivah  (seven  days'  mourning).  The 
non-possession  of  a  servant  made  it  necessary  to 
lock  up  the  house  and  pull  down  the  blinds,  when 
its  sole  occupant  went  visiting. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  vain  expectation,  Salvina 
mechanically  returned  to  her  Greek  grammar,  which 
opened  as  automatically  at  the  irregular  verbs.  She 
had  just  achieved  the  greatest  distinction  of  her  life, 
and  one  not  often  paralleled  in  Board  School  girl- 
circles,  by  matriculating  at  the  Lofidon  University. 
Hers  was  only  a  second-class  pass,  but  gained  by 
private  night-study,  supplemented  by  some  evening 
lessons  at  the  People's  Palace,  it  was  sufficiently 
remarkable ;  especially  when  one  considered  she  had 
still  other  subjects  to  prepare  for  the  Centres.  Sal- 
vina was  now  audaciously  aiming  at  the  Bachelor- 
hood of  Arts,  for  which  the  Greek  verbs  were  far 
more  irregular.  It  was  not  only  the  love  of  know- 
ledge that  animated  her:  as  a  bachelor  she  might 
become  a  head-mistress,  nay,  might  even  aspire  to 
follow  the  lead  of  her  dashing  elder  sister  and  teach 
in  a  wealthy  family  that  treated  you  as  one  of  itself. 
Not  that  Kitty  had  ever  matriculated,  but  an  ugly 
duckling  needs  many  plumes  of  learning  ere  it  can 
ruffle  itself  like  a  beautiful  swan. 

Who  should  now  come  upon  the  promenading  stu- 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  251 

dent  but  Sugarman  the  Shadchan,  his  hand  full  of 
papers,  and  his  blue  bandanna  trailing  from  his  left 
coat-tail ! 

"Ah,  you  are  the  very  person  I  was  coming  to 
see,"  he  cried  gleefully  in  his  corrupt  German  ac- 
cent.    "  What  is  your  sister's  address  now  ? " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Salvina  distrustfully. 

"  I  have  a  fine  young  man  for  her !  " 

Salvina's  pallid  cheek  coloured  with  modesty  and 
resentment.     "  My  sister  doesn't  need  your  services." 

"  Maybe  not,"  said  Sugarman,  unruffled.  "  But 
the  young  man  does.  He  saw  your  sister  once 
years  ago,  before  he  went  to  the  Cape.  Now  he  is 
a  Takif  (rich  man)  and  wants  a  wife." 

"  He's  not  rich  enough  to  buy  Kitty."  Salvina's 
romantic  soul  was  outraged,  and  she  spoke  with  un- 
wonted asperity. 

"  He  is  rich  enough  to  buy  Kitty  all  she  wants. 
He  is  quite  in  love  with  her  —  she  can  ask  for  any- 
thing." 

"  Then  let  him  go  and  tell  her  so  himself.  What 
does  he  come  to  you  for }  He  must  be  a  very  poor 
lover." 

"  Poor !  I  tell  you  he  is  rolling  in  gold.  It's  the 
luckiest  thing  that  could  have  happened  to  your 
family.  You  will  all  ride  in  your  carriage.  You 
ought  to  fall  on  your  knees  and  bless  me.  Your 
sister  is  not  so  young  any  more,  at  nineteen  a  girl 
can't  afford  to  sniff.     Believe  me  there  are  thousands 


252  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

of  girls  who  would  jump  at  the  chance  —  yes,  girls 
with  dowries,  too.     And  your  sister  hasn't  a  penny." 

**  My  sister  has  a  heart  and  a  soul,"  retorted  Sal- 
vina  witheringly,  "  and  she  wants  a  heart  and  a  soul 
to  sympathize  with  hers,  not  a  money-bag." 

"Then,  won't  you  take  a  ticket  for  the  lottereef" 
rejoined  Sugarman  pleasantly.  "Then  you  get  a 
money-bag  of  your  own." 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Not  even  half  a  ticket.?  Only  thirty-six  shillings ! 
You  needn't  pay  me  now.     I  trust  you." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"But  think  —  I  may  win  you  the  great  prize  —  a 
hundred  thousand  marks." 

The  sum  fascinated  Salvina,  and  for  an  instant  her 
imagination  played  with  its  marvellous  potentialities. 
They  could  all  move  to  the  country,  and  there  among 
the  birds  and  the  flowers  she  could  study  all  day 
long,  and  even  try  for  a  degree  with  Honours.  Her 
father  would  be  saved  from  the  cigar  factory,  her 
sister  from  exile  amid  strangers,  her  mother  should 
have  a  servant,  her  brother  the  wife  he  coveted.  All 
her  Spitalfields  circle  had  speculated  through  Sugar- 
man,  not  without  encouraging  hits.  She  smiled  as 
she  remembered  the  vendor  of  slippers  who  had  won 
sixty  pounds  and  was  so  puffed  up  that  when  his 
wife  stopped  in  the  street  to  speak  to  a  shabby  ac- 
quaintance, he  cried  vehemently,  "  Betsey,  Betsey, 
do  learn  to  behave  according  to  your  station." 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  253 

"  You  don't  believe  me  ? "  said  Sugarman,  mis- 
apprehending her  smile.  *' You  can  read  it  all  for 
yourself,  A  hundred  thousand  marks,  so  sure  my 
little  Nehemiah  shall  see  rejoicings.     Look !  " 

But  Salvina  waved  back  the  thin  rustling  papers 
with  their  exotic  Continental  flavour.  '^  Gambling  is 
wicked,"  she  said. 

Sugarman  was  incensed.  "Me  in  a  wicked  busi- 
ness !  Why,  I  know  more  Talmud  than  anybody  in 
London,  and  can  be  called  up  the  Law  as  Morenu  ! 
You'll  say  marrying  is  wicked,  next.  But  they  are 
both  State  Institutions.  England  is  the  only  country 
in  the  world  without  a  lotteree.*' 

Salvina  wavered,  but  her  instinct  was  repugnant  to 
money  that  did  not  accumulate  itself  by  slow,  painful 
economies,  and  her  multifarious  reading  had  made 
the  word  "  Speculation  "  a  prism  of  glittering  vice. 

"  I  daresay  j/ou  think  it's  not  wrong,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  apologize  if  I  hurt  your  feelings.  But  don't 
you  see  how  you  go  about  unsettling  people  ?  " 

•'  Me !  Why,  I  settle  them  !  And  if  you'd  only 
give  me  your  sister's  address  —  " 

His  persistency  played  upon  Salvina's  delicate 
conscience;  made  her  feel  she  must  not  refuse  the 
poor  man  everything.  Besides,  the  grand  address 
would  choke  him  off. 

"  She's  at  Bedford  Square,  with  the  Samuelsons." 

"  Ah,  I  know.  Two  daughters,  Lily  and  Mabel," 
and  Sugarman   instead  of  being  impressed  nodded 


254  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

his  head,  as  if  even  the  Samuelsons  were  mortal  and 
marriageable. 

"Yes,  my  sister  is  their  governess  and  companion. 
But  you'll  only  waste  your  time." 

"  You  think  so  }  "  he  said  triumphantly.  "  Look 
at  this  likeness  !  " 

And  he  drew  out  the  photograph  of  a  coarse-faced 
middle-aged  man,  with  a  jaunty  flower  in  his  frock- 
coat  and  a  prosperous  abdomen  supporting  a  heavily 
trinketed  watch-chain.  Underneath  swaggered  the 
signature,  **  Yours  truly,  Moss  M.  Rosenstein." 

Salvina  shuddered :  '*  He  was  wise  to  send  you,'' 
she  said  slyly. 

"  Is  it  not  so  1  Ah,  and  your  brother,  too,  would 
have  done  better  to  come  to  me  instead  of  falling  in 
love  with  a  girl  with  a  hundred  pounds.  But  I  bear 
your  family  no  grudge,  you  see.  Perhaps  it  is  not 
too  late  yet.  Tell  Lazarus  that  if  he  should  come  to 
break  with  the  Jonases,  there  are  better  fish  in  the 
sea  —  gold  fish,  too.  Good-bye.  We  shall  both  dance 
at  your  sister's  wedding."     And  he  tripped  off. 

Salvina  resumed  her  Greek,  but  the  grotesque 
aorists  could  not  hold  her  attention.  She  was  hun- 
gry and  worn  out,  and  even  when  her  mother  came, 
it  would  be  some  time  before  her  evening  meal  could 
be  prepared.  She  felt  she  must  sit  down,  if  only  on 
her  doorsteps,  but  their  whiteness  was  inordinately 
marred  as  by  many  dirty  boots  —  she  wondered  whose 
and  why  —  and  she  had  to  content  herself  with  lean- 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  265 

ing  against  the  stucco  balustrade.  And  gradually  as 
the  summer  twilight  faded,  the  grammar  dropped  in 
her  hand,  and  Salvina  fell  a-dreaming. 

What  did  she  dream  of,  this  Board  School  drudge, 
whose  pasty  face  was  craned  curiously  forward  on 
sloping  shoulders  ?  Was  it  of  the  enchanted  land  of 
love  of  which  Sugarman  had  reminded  her,  but  over 
whose  roses  he  had  tramped  so  grossly  ?  Alas ! 
Sugarman  himself  had  never  thought  of  her  as  a 
client  for  any  but  the  lottery  section  of  his  business. 
Within,  she  was  one  glow  of  eager  romance,  of 
honour,  of  quixotic  duty,  but  no  ray  of  this  pierced 
without  to  give  a  sparkle  to  the  eye,  a  colour  to  the 
cheek.  No  faintest  dash  of  coquetry  betrayed  the 
yearning  of  the  soul  or  gave  grace  to  walk  or  gesture : 
her  dress  was  merely  a  tidy  covering.  Her  exquisite 
sensibility  found  bodily  expression  only  as  a  clumsy 
shyness. 

Poor  Salvina ! 

II 

At  last  the  welcome  jar  and  creak  of  the  gate 
awoke  her. 

''  Why,  I  thought  you  knew  I  had  to  go  to  the  Bor- 
ough ! "  began  a  fretful  voice,  forestalling  reproach, 
and  a  buxom  woman  resplendent  with  black  satin 
and  much  jewellery  came  up  the  tiny  garden-path. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,  mother  —  I  haven't  been  wait- 
ing long." 


256  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Well,  you  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  get  a  'bus  in 
this  weather  —  at  least  if  you  want  to  sit  outside, 
and  it  always  makes  my  head  ache  frightfully  to  go 
inside  —  I'm  not  strong  and  young  like  you  —  and 
such  a  long  way,  I  had  to  change  at  the  Bank,  and 
I  made  sure  you'd  get  something  to  eat  at  one  of  the 
girls',  and  go  straight  to  the  People's  Palace." 

Still  muttering,  Mrs.  Brill  produced  a  key,  and 
after  some  fumbling  threw  open  the  door.  Both 
made  a  step  within,  then  both  stopped,  aghast. 

"It's  the  wrong  house,"  thought  Salvina  confusedly, 
conscious  of  her  power  of  making  such  mistakes. 

"  A'zjj/^?//"  (witchcraft) !  "  whispered  her  mother, 
terrified  into  her  native  idiom.  The  passage  lay 
before  them,  entirely  bare  of  all  its  familiar  colour 
and  furniture :  the  framed  engravings  depicting  tlje 
trials  of  William  Lord  Russell,  in  the  Old  Bailey, 
and  Earl  Stafford  in  Westminster  Hall,  the  flower- 
pots on  the  hall  table,  the  proudly  purchased  hat- 
rack,  the  metal  umbrella-stand,  all  gone !  And 
beyond,  facing  them,  lay  the  parlour,  an  equally  for- 
lorn vacancy  striking  like  a  blast  of  chilly  wind 
through  its  wide-open  door. 

"  Thieves ! "  cried  Mrs.  Brill,  reverting  from  the 
supernatural  and  the  Yiddish.  "  Murder !  I'm 
ruined  !     They've  stolen  my  house  !  " 

"  Hush  !  Hush  !  "  said  Salvina,  strung  to  calm  by 
her  mother's  incoherence.  "  Let  us  see  first  what 
has  really  happened." 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  267 

"  Happened  !  Haven't  you  got  eyes  in  your  head  ? 
All  the  fruit  of  my  years  of  toil ! "  And  Mrs.  Brill 
wrung  her  jewelled  hands.  ''Your  father  would 
have  me  call  on  those  Sperlings,  though  I  told  him 
they'd  be  glad  to  dance  on  my  tomb.  And  why 
didn't  Lazarus  stay  at  home } " 

"  You  know  he  has  to  be  out  looking  for  work." 

"  And  my  gilt  clock  that  I  trembled  even  to  wind 
up,  and  the  big  vase  with  the  picture  on  it,  and  my 
antimacassars,  and  my  beautiful  couch  that  nobody 
had  ever  sat  upon  !     Oh  my  God,  oh  my  God !  " 

Leaving  her  mother  moaning  out  a  complete  in- 
ventory in  the  passage,  Salvina  advanced  into  the 
violated  parlour.  It  was  an  aching  void.  On  the 
bare  mantelpiece,  just  where  the  gilt  clock  had  an- 
nounced a  perpetual  half-past  two,  gleamed  an  un- 
stamped letter.  She  took  it  up  wonderingly.  It  was 
in  her  father's  schoolboyish  hand,  addressed  to  her 
mother.  She  opened  it,  as  usual,  for  Mrs.  Brill  did 
not  even  know  the  alphabet,  and  refused  steadily  to 
make  its  acquaintance,  to  the  ironic  humiliation  of 
the  Board  School  teacher. 

"  You  would  not  let  me  give  you  G"*?/,"  [ran  the  letter  abruptly], 
"so  you  have  only  yourself  to  blame.  I  have  left  the  clothes  in 
the  bed-rooms,  but  what  is  mine  is  mine.     Good-bye. 

"Michael  Brill. 

"P.S.  —  Don't  try  to  find  me  at  the  factory.     I  have  left." 

Salvina  steadied  herself  against  the  mantelpiece 
till   the  room  should    have   finished   reeling   round. 


258  THE   KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

Get!  Her  father  had  wanted  to  put  away  her 
mother !  Divorce,  departure,  devastation  —  what 
strange  things  were  these,  come  to  wreck  a  prosper- 
ity so  slowly  built  up  ! 

"  Quick,  Salvina,  there  goes  a  policeman !  "  came 
her  mother's  cry. 

The  room  stood  still  suddenly.  **  Hush,  hush, 
mother,"  Salvina  said  imperiously.  **  There's  no 
thief ! "  She  ran  back  into  the  passage,  the  letter 
in  her  hand. 

A  fierce  flame  of  intelligence  leapt  into  the 
woman's  face.  "  Ah,  it's  your  father  ! "  she  cried. 
"  I  knew  it,  I  knew  he'd  go  after  that  painted  widow, 
just  because  she  has  a  little  money,  a  black  curse  on 
her  bones.  Oh !  oh !  God  in  heaven !  To  bring 
such  shame  on  me,  for  the  sake  of  a  saucy-nosed 
slut  whose  sister  sold  ironmongery  in  Petticoat  Lane 
—  a  low  lot,  one  and  all,  and  not  fit  to  wipe  my  shoes 
on,  even  when  she  was  respectable,  and  this  is  what 
you  call  a  father,  Salvina  !     Oh  my  God,  my  God  !  " 

Salvina  was  by  this  time  dazed,  yet  she  had  a 
gleam  of  consciousness  left  with  which  to  register 
this  culminating  destruction  of  all  her  social  land- 
marks. What !  That  monstrous  wickedness  of 
marquises  and  epauletted  officers  which  hovered 
vaguely  in  the  shadow-land  of  novels  and  plays  had 
tumbled  with  a  bang  into  real  life ;  had  fallen  not 
even  into  its  natural  gilded  atmosphere,  but  through 
the  amulet-guarded  doors  of   a   respectable   Jewish 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  259 

family  in  the  heart  of  a  Hackney  Terrace,  amid  the 
horsehair  couches  and  deal  tables  of  homely  reality. 
Nay  —  more  sordid  than  the  romantic  wickedness  of 
shadowland  —  it  had  even  removed  those  couches 
and  tables  !  And  oddly  blent  with  this  tossing  chaos 
of  new  thought  in  Salvina's  romantic  brain  surged 
up  another  thought,  no  less  new  and  startling.  Her 
father  and  mother  had  once  loved  each  other !  They, 
too,  had  dawned  upon  each  other,  fairy  prince  and 
fairy  princess;  had  laid  in  each  other's  hand  that 
warm  touch  of  trust  and  readiness  to  live  and  die  for 
each  other.  It  was  very  wonderful,  and  she  almost 
forgot  their  hostile  relationship  in  a  rapid  back- 
glance  upon  the  years  in  which  they  had  lived  in 
mutual  love  before  her  unsuspecting  eyes.  Their 
prosaic  bickering  selves  were  transfigured  :  her  vivid 
imagination  threw  off  the  damage  of  the  years,  saw 
her  coarse,  red-cheeked  father  and  her  too  plump 
mother  as  the  idyllic  figures  on  the  lamented  parlour 
vase.  And  when  her  thought  struggled  painfully 
back  to  the  actual  moment,  it  was  with  a  new  con- 
crete sense  of  its  tragic  intensity. 

"  O  mother,  mother ! "  she  cried,  as  she  threw 
her  arms  round  her.  The  Greek  grammar  and  the 
letter  fell  unregarded  to  the  floor. 

The  fountain  of  Mrs.  Brill's  wrongs  leapt  higher 
at  the  sympathy.  "And  I  could  have  had  half- 
a-dozen  young  men !  The  boils  of  Egypt  be  upon 
him !     Time   after   time    I    said,    *  No,'    though   the 


260  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

Shadchan  bewitched  my  parents  into  believing  that 
Michael  was  an  angel  without  wings." 

"  But  you  also  thought  father  an  angel,"  Salvina 
pleaded. 

"Yes;  and  now  he  has  got  wings,"  said  Mrs. 
Brill  savagely. 

Salvina's  tears  began  to  ooze  out.  Poor  swain 
and  shepherdess  on  the  parlour  vase !  Was  this, 
then,  how  idylls  ended }  "  Perhaps  he'll  come 
back,"  she  murmured. 

The  wife  snorted  viciously.  "  And  my  furniture .'' 
The  beautiful  furniture  I  toiled  and  scraped  for, 
that  he  always  grumbled  at,  though  I  saved  it  out 
of  the  housekeeping  money,  without  its  costing  him 
a  penny,  and  no  man  in  London  had  better  meals, 
—  hot  meat  every  day  and  fish  for  Sabbath,  even 
when  plaice  were  eightpence  a  pound,  —  and  no 
servant  —  every  scrap  of  work  done  with  my  own 
two  hands!  Now  he  carts  everything  away  as  if 
it  were  his." 

*'  I  suppose  it  is  by  law,"  Salvina  said  mildly. 

"  Law !     ril  have  the  law  on  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  mother !  "  and  Salvina  shuddered.  "  Be- 
sides, he  has  left  our  clothes." 

Mrs.  Brill's  eye  lit  up.     "  I  see  no  clothes." 

"  In  our  rooms.     The  letter  says  so." 

"  And  you  still  believe  what  he  says  t "  She 
began  to  mount  the  stairs.  "  I  am  sure  he  packed 
in  my  Paisley  shawl  while   he  was  about  it.     It  is 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  2^1 

fortunate  I  wore  all  my  jewellery.  And  you  al- 
ways say  I  put  on  too  much !  " 

Sustained  by  this  unanswerable  vindication  of  her 
past  policy,  Mrs.  Brill  ascended  the  stairs  without 
further  wailing. 

Salvina,  whose  sense  of  romance  never  exalted 
her  above  the  practical,  remembered  now  that  her 
brother  Lazarus  might  come  back  at  any  moment 
clamorously  hungry.  This  pinned  her  to  the  con- 
crete moment.  How  to  get  him  some  supper ! 
And  her  mother,  too,  must  be  faint  and  tired.  She 
ran  into  the  kitchen,  and  found  enough  odds  and 
ends  left  to  make  a  meal,  and  even  a  cracked  tea- 
pot and  a  few  coarse  cups  not  worth  carrying 
away;  and,  with  a  sense  of  Robinson  Crusoe  ad- 
venture, she  extracted  light,  heat,  and  cheerfulness 
from  the  obedient  gas  branch,  which  took  on  the 
air  of  a  case  of  precious  goods  not  washed  away 
in  the  household  wreck.  When  her  mother  at  last 
came  down,  cataloguing  the  wardrobe  salvage  in 
picturesque  Yiddish,  Salvina  stopped  her  curses  with 
hot  tea.  They  both  drank,  leaning  against  the 
kitchen-dresser,  which  served  for  a  table  for  the  cups. 

Salvina's  Crusoe  excitement  increased  when  her 
mother  asked  her  where  they  were  to  sleep,  seeing 
that  even  the  beds  had  been  spirited  away. 

"I  have  five  shillings  in  my  purse;  I'll  go  out 
and  buy  a  cheap  mattress.  But  then  there's  Laza- 
rus!    Oh  dear!" 


262  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Lazarus  has  his  own  bed.  Yes,  yes,  thank 
God,  we'll  be  able  to  borrow  his  wedding  furni^ 
ture." 

"  But  it's  all  stored  away  in  the  Jonas's  attic." 

A  smart  rat-tat  at  the  door  denoted  the  inoppor- 
tune return  of  Lazarus  himself.  Salvina  darted 
upstairs  to  let  him  in  and  break  the  shock.  He 
was  a  slimmer  and  more  elegant  edition  of  his 
father,  a  year  older  than  Kitty,  and  taller  than 
Salvina  by  a  jaunty  head  and  shoulders. 

"  And  why  isn't  the  hall  lamp  alight } "  he 
queried,  as  her  white  face  showed  itself  in  the 
dusky  door-slit.  "  It  looks  so  beastly  shabby.  The 
only  light's  in  the  kitchen ;  I  daresay  you  and 
the  mater  are  pigging  there  again.  Why  can't 
you  live  up  to  your  position .? " 

The  unexpected  reproach  broke  her  down.  "  We 
have  no  position  any  more,"  she  sobbed  out.  And 
all  the  long  years  of  paralyzing  economies  swept 
back  to  her  memory,  all  the  painful  progress  — 
accelerated  by  her  growing  salary  —  from  the 
Hounsditch  apartments  to  the  bow-window^  and 
gas-chandeliers  of  Hackney ! 

"  What  do  you  mean }  What  is  the  matter  ? 
Speak,  you  little  fool !  Don't  cry."  He  came 
across  the  threshold  and  shook  her  roughly. 

"  Father's  run  away  with  the  furniture  and  some 
woman,"  she  explained  chokingly. 

"  The  devil !  "     The  smart  cane  slipped  from  his 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  263 

fingers  and  he  maintained  his  cigar  in  his  mouth  with 
difficulty.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  the  old  man  has 
gone  and  —  the  beastly  brute!  The  selfish  hypo- 
crite !     But  how  could  he  get  the  furniture  ?  " 

"  He  made  mother  go  on  a  visit  to  the  Borough." 

"  The  old  fox  !  That's  your  religious  chaps.  I'll 
go  and  give  'em  both  brimstone.     Where  are  they } " 

*' I  don't  know  where — but  you  must  not  —  it  is 
all  too  horrible.  There's  nothing  even  to  sleep  on. 
We  thought  of  borrowing  your  furniture !  " 

*'  What !  And  give  the  whole  thing  away  to  the 
Jonases  —  and  lose  Rhoda,  perhaps.  Good  heavens, 
Sally.  Don't  be  so  beastly  selfish.  Think  of  the 
disgrace,  if  we  can't  cover  it  up." 

"  The  disgrace  is  for  father,  not  for  you." 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot.  Old  Jonas  looked  down  on  us 
enough  already,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Kitty's  call- 
ing on  him  in  the  Samuelsons'  carriage,  he  might 
never  have  consented  to  the  engagement." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  said  Salvina,  melted  afresh  by  this 
new  aspect.  "  My  poor  Lazarus !  "  and  she  gazed 
dolefully  at  the  handsome  youth  who  had  divided 
with  Kitty  the  good  looks  of  the  family.  "  But  still," 
she  added  consolingly,  "  you  couldn't  have  married 
for  a  long  time,  anyhow." 

"  I  don't  know  so  much.  I  had  a  very  promising 
interview  this  afternoon  with  the  manager  of  Granders 
Brothers,  the  big  sponge-people." 

"  But  you  don't  understand  travelling  in  sponge." 


264  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Pooh  !  Travelling's  travelling.  There's  nothing 
to  understand.  Whatever  the  article  is,  you  just  tell 
lies  about  it." 

"  Oh,  Lazarus  !  " 

"  Don't  make  eyes  —  you  ain't  pretty  enough. 
What  do  you  know  of  the  world,  you  who  live  mewed 
up  in  a  Board  School }  I  daresay  you  believe  all  the 
rot  you  have  to  tell  the  little  girls." 

Her  brother's  shot  made  a  wound  he  had  not  in- 
tended. Salvina  was  at  last  reminded  of  her  own 
relation  to  the  sordid  tragedy,  of  what  the  other 
teachers  would  think,  ay,  even  the  little  girls,  so 
sharp  in  all  that  did  not  concern  school-learning. 
Would  her  pupils  have  any  inkling  of  the  cloud  on 
teacher's  home  ?  Ah,  her  brother  was  right.  This 
disgrace  besplashed  them  all,  and  she  saw  herself  con- 
fusedly as  a  tainted  figure  holding  forth  on  honour 
and  duty  to  rows  of  white  pinafores. 

Ill 

Meantime,  her  mother  had  toiled  up  —  her  jewels 
glittering  curiously  in  the  dusk  —  and  now  poured 
herself  out  to  the  fresh  auditor  in  a  breathless  wail ; 
recapitulated  her  long  years  of  devotion  and  the 
abstracted  contents  of  the  house.  But  Lazarus  soon 
wearied  of  the  inventory  of  her  virtues  and  furniture. 

"What's  the  use  of  crying  over  spilt  milk?"  he 
said.     "  You  must  get  a  new  jug." 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  266 

"A  new  jug!  And  what  about  the  basin  and  the 
coffee-pot  and  the  saucepans  and  the  plates  !  And 
my  new  blue  dish  with  the  willow-pattern.  Oh,  my 
God ! " 

"  Don't  be  so  stupid." 

"  She's  a  little  dazed,  Lazarus,  dear.  Have  patience 
with  her.  Lazarus  says  it's  no  use  crying  and  letting 
the  neighbours  hear  you  :  we  must  make  the  best  of 
a  bad  job,  and  cover  it  up." 

"  You'll  soon  cover  me  up.  I  won't  need  my 
clothes  then  —  only  a  clean  shroud.  After  twenty 
years  —  he  wipes  his  mouth  and  he  goes  away ! 
Tear  the  rent  in  your  garments,  children  mine,  your 
mother  is  dead." 

"  How  can  any  one  have  patience  with  her } "  cried 
Lazarus.  **  One  would  think  it  was  such  a  treat  for 
her  to  live  with  father.  Judging  by  the  rows  you've 
had,  mother,  you  ought  to  be  thankful  to  be  rid  of 
him." 

"  I  am  thankful,"  she  retorted  hysterically.  "  Who 
said  I  wasn't }  A  grumbling,  grunting  pig,  who 
grudged  me  my  horsehair  couch  because  he  couldn't 
sit  on  it.  Well,  let  him  squat  on  it  now  with  his 
lady.  I  don't  care.  All  my  enemies  will  pity  me, 
will  they }  If  they  only  knew  how  glad  I  was !  " 
and  she  broke  into  more  sobs. 

"  Come,  mother ;  come  downstairs,  Lazarus  :  don't 
let  us  stay  up  in  the  dark." 

*'  Not  me,"  said  Lazarus.      "  I'm  not  going  down 


266  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

to  hear  this  all  over  again.  Besides,  where  am  I  to 
sit  or  to  sleep  ?  I  must  go  to  an  hotel."  He  struck 
a  match  to  relight  his  cigar  and  it  flared  weirdly  upon 
the  tear-smudged  female  faces.  *'  Got  any  money, 
Salvina,"  he  said  more  gently. 

"Only  five  shillings." 

"Well,  I  daresay  I  can  manage  on  that.  Good- 
night, mother,  don't  take  on  so,  it'll  be  all  the  same 
a  hundred  years  hence."  He  opened  the  door; 
then  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  and  said 
awkwardly  :  "  I  suppose  you'll  manage  to  find  some- 
thing to  sleep  on  just  for  to-night." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Salvina  reassuringly  ;  "  we'll  man- 
age.    Don't  worry,  dear." 

"  I'll  be  in  the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  We'll 
have  a  council  of  war.  Good-night  It  is  a  beastly 
mean  trick,"  and  he  went  out  meditatively. 

When  he  was  gone,  Salvina  remembered  that  the 
five  shillings  were  for  the  mattress.  But  she  further 
bethought  herself  that  the  sum  would  scarcely  have 
sufficed  even  for  a  straw  mattress,  and  that  the  little 
gold  ring  Kitty  had  given  her  when  she  matriculated 
would  fetch  more.  Her  mother's  jewellery  must  be 
left  sacred  ;  the  poor  creature  was  smarting  enough 
from  the  sense  of  loss.  Bidding  her  sit  on  the  stairs 
till  she  returned,  she  hastened  into  Mare  Street,  the 
great  Hackney  highway,  christened  "  The  Devil's 
Mile  "  by  the  Salvation  Army.  Early  experience 
had  familiarized  her  with  the  process  of  pawning. 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  267 

but  now  she  slipped  furtively  into  the  first  pawn- 
shop and  did  not  stay  to  make  a  good  bargain.  She 
spent  on  a  telegram  to  the  central  post-office  six- 
pence of  the  proceeds,  so  that  she  might  be  able  to 
draw  out  without  delay  the  few  pounds  she  had  laid 
by  for  her  summer  holiday.  While  she  was  pur- 
chasing the  mattress  at  the  garishly  illuminated  fur- 
niture store,  the  words  "  Hire  System  "  caught  her 
eye,  and  seemed  a  providential  solution  of  the  posi- 
tion. She  broached  negotiations  for  the  furnishing 
of  a  bed-room  and  a  kitchen,  minus  carpet  and  oil- 
cloth (for  these  would  not  fit  the  cheaper  apartments 
into  which  they  would  now  have  to  revert),  but  she 
found  there  were  tedious  formalities  to  be  gone 
through,  and  that  her  own  signature  would  be  in- 
valid, as  she  was  legally  a  child.  However,  she  was 
able  to  secure  the  porterage  of  the  mattress  at  once, 
and,  followed  by  a  bending  Atlas,  she  hurried  back 
to  her  mother —  who  sat  on  her  stair,  moaning  —  and 
diverted  her  from  her  griefs  by  teaching  her  to  sign 
her  name,  in  view  of  the  legal  exigencies  of  the 
morrow.  It  was  a  curious  wind-up  to  her  day's 
teaching.  Poor  Mrs.  Brill's  obstinate  objection  to 
education  had  to  give  way  at  last  under  such  unex- 
pected conditions,  but  she  insisted  on  the  shortest 
possible  spelling,  and  so  the  uncouth  "  Esther  Brills  " 
pencilled  at  the  top  of  the  sheet  were  exchanged  for 
more  flowing  "  E.  Brills  "  lower  down.  Even  then, 
the  good  woman  took  the  thing  as  a  pictorial  flourish, 


268  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

or  a  section  of  a  map,  and  disdained  acquaintance 
with  the  constituent  letters,  so  that  her  progress  in 
learning  remained  only  nominal. 

Then  the  "  infant "  at  law  put  her  mother  to  bed 
and  lay  down  beside  her  on  the  mattress,  both  in 
their  clothes  for  lack  of  blankets.  The  mother  soon 
dozed  off,  but  the  "**  child  "  lay  turning  from  side  to 
side.  The  pressure  of  her  little  tasks  had  dulled  the 
edge  of  emotion,  but  now,  in  the  silence  of  the  night, 
the  whole  tragic  position  came  back  with  all  its  sor- 
did romanticism,  its  pathetic  meanness ;  and  when 
at  last  she  slept,  its  obsession  lay  heavy  upon  her 
dreams,  and  she  sat  at  her  examination  desk  in  the 
London  University,  striving  horridly  to  recall  the 
irregularities  of  Greek  verbs,  and  to  set  them  down 
with  a  pen  that  could  never  dip  up  any  ink,  while 
the  inexorable  hands  of  the  clock  went  round,  and 
her  father,  in  the  coveted  Bachelor's  gown,  waited  to 
spirit  away  her  desk  and  seat  as  soon  as  the  hour 
should  strike. 

IV 

The  next  morning  Salvina  should  have  awakened 
with  a  sense  through  all  her  bones  that  it  was  Friday 
—  the  last  day  of  the  school-week,  harbinger  of  such 
blessed  rest  that  the  mere  expectation  of  it  was  also 
a  rest.  Alas  !  she  woke  from  the  nightmare  of  sleep 
to  the  nightmare  of  reality,  and  the  week-end  meant 
only  time  to  sound  the  horror  of  the  new  situation. 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  269 

In  one  point  alone,  Friday  remained  a  consolation. 
Only  one  day  to  face  her  fellow-teachers  and  her 
children,  and  then  two  days  for  hiding  from  the 
world  with  her  pain,  for  preparing  to  face  it  again ; 
to  say  nothing  of  the  leisure  for  practical  recupera- 
tion of  the  home. 

Lazarus  turned  up  so  late  that  the  council  of  war 
was  of  the  briefest  and  held  almost  on  the  door-step, 
for  Salvina  must  be  in  school  by  nine.  The  thought 
of  staying  away  —  even  in  this  crisis  —  simply  did 
not  occur  to  her. 

She  arranged  that  Lazarus  was  to  meet  her  in  the 
city  after  morning  school,  when  she  would  have 
drawn  her  savings  from  the  post-office :  more  than 
enough  for  the  advance  on  the  furniture,  which  must 
be  delivered  that  very  afternoon.  Lazarus  had  been 
for  telegraphing  at  once  to  Kitty  for  assistance,  but 
Salvina  put  her  foot  down. 

"  Let  us  not  frighten  her — I  will  go  and  break  it 
to  her  on  Sunday  afternoon.  You  know  she  can't 
spare  any  money ;  it  is  as  much  as  she  can  do  to 
dress  up  to  the  position." 

"  I  do  hope  the  scandal  won't  spread,"  said  Laza- 
rus gloomily.  "  It  would  be  a  nice  thing  if  she  lost 
the  position  and  fell  back  on  our  hands." 

"Yes,  he  has  ruined  all  my  children,"  sobbed  Mrs. 
Brill,  breaking  out  afresh.  "  But  what  did  he  care  } 
Ah,  if  it  wasn't  for  me,  you  would  have  been  in  the 
workhouse  long  ago." 


270  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

*'  Well  then,  go  and  do  your  Sabbath  marketing  or 
else  we'll  have  to  go  there  now,"  said  Lazarus  not 
unkindly  ;  "  the  tradespeople  will  give  you  credit." 

*'  Rather  !     They  know  /  never  ran  away." 

"And  mind,  mother,"  said  Salvina  as  she  snatched 
up  her  Greek  grammar,  *'mind  the  fried  fish  is  as 
good  as  usual ;  we're  a  long  way  from  the  workhouse 
yet !  And  if  you're  not  in  to-night,  Lazarus,"  she 
whispered  as  she  ran  off,  "  I'll  never  forgive  you." 

"Well,  I'm  blowed !  "  said  Lazarus,  looking  after 
the  awkward  little  iigure,  flying  to  catch,  the  8.21. 

"  Yes,  but  I've  no  frying  pan !  "  Mrs.  Brill  called 
after  her. 

"  You'll  have  it  by  this  afternoon,"  Salvina  called 
back  reassuringly. 

The  sun  was  already  strong,  the  train  packed,  and 
Salvina  stood  so  jammed  in  that  she  could  scarcely 
hold  her  grammar  open,  and  the  irregular  verbs 
danced  before  her  eyes  even  more  than  their  strange 
moods  and  tenses  warranted.  At  the  school  her 
thrilling  consciousness  of  her  domestic  tragedy  inter- 
posed some  strange  veil  between  her  and  her  fellow- 
teachers,  and  they  seemed  to  stand  away  from  her, 
enveloped  in  another  atmosphere.  She  heard  her- 
self teaching —  five  elevens  are  fifty-five  —  and  her 
own  self  seemed  to  stand  away  from  her,  too.  She 
noted  without  protest  two  of  the  girls  pulling  each 
other's  hair  in  some  far-off  hazy  world,  and  the  an- 
swering drone  of  the  class  —  five  elevens  are  fifty- 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  271 

five  —  seemed  like  the  peaceful  buzzing  of  a  gigantic 
blue-bottle  on  a  drowsy  afternoon.  It  occurred  to 
her  suddenly  that  she  was  fifty-five  years  old,  and 
when  Miss  Rolver,  the  Christian  head-mistress,  came 
into  her  room,  Salvina  had  an  unexpected  feeling  of 
advantage  in  life-experience  over  this  desiccated 
specimen  of  femininity,  redolent  of  time-tables,  rec- 
ord-parchments, foolscap,  and  clean  blotting-paper. 
Outside  all  this  scheduled  world  pulsed  a  large 
irregular  life  of  flesh  and  blood ;  all  the  primitive 
verbs  in  every  language  were  irregular,  it  suddenly 
flashed  upon  her,  and  she  had  an  instant  of  vivifying 
insight  into  the  Greek  language  she  had  unquestion- 
ingly  accepted  as  "  dead "  ;  saw  Grecian  men  and 
women  breathing  their  thoughts  and  passions  — 
even  expressing  the  shape  of  their  throats  and  lips 
—  through  these  erratic  aorists. 

"  You  look  tired,  dear,"  said  the  head-mistress. 

"  It's  the  heat,"  Salvina  murmured. 

"  Never  mind ;  the  summer  holidays  will  soon  be 
here." 

It  sounded  a  mockery.  Summer  holidays  would 
no  longer  mean  Ramsgate,  and  delicious  days  of 
study  on  sunny  cliffs,  with  the  relaxation  of  novels 
and  poems.  These  slowly  achieved  luxuries  of  the 
last  two  years  were  impossible  for  this  year  at  least. 
And  this  thought  of  being  penned  up  in  London  dur- 
ing the  dog  days  oppressed  her :  she  felt  choking. 
Her  next  sensation  was  of  water  sprinkling  on  her 


272  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

face,  and  of  Miss  Rolver's  kind  anxious  voice  asking 
her  if  she  felt  better.  Instead  of  replying,  Salvina 
wondered  in  a  clouded  way  where  the  school-managers 
were. 

Even  her  naiVe  mind  had  been  struck  at  last  by 
the  coincidence  that  whenever,  after  a  managers* 
meeting,  these  omnipotent  ladies  and  gentlemen  from 
a  higher  world  strolled  through  the  school,  Miss 
Rolver  happened  to  be  discovered  in  an  interesting 
attitude.  If  it  was  the  play-hour,  she  would  be  —  for 
this  occasion  only  —  in  the  playground  leading  the 
games,  surrounded  by  clamorously  affectionate  little 
ones.  If  it  was  working-time,  she  was  found  as  a 
human  island  amid  a  sea  of  sewing :  billows  of  pina- 
fores and  aprons  heaved  tumultuously  around  her. 
Or,  with  a  large  air  of  angelic  motherhood,  she  would 
be  tying  up  some  child's  bruised  finger.  Her  great- 
est invention  —  so  it  had  appeared  to  the  scrupulous 
Salvina  —  was  the  stray,  starved,  half -frozen,  sweet 
little  kitten,  lapping  up  milk  from  a  saucer  before  a 
ruddy  blazing  fire  at  the  very  instant  of  the  great 
personages'  passage.  How  they  had  beamed,  one 
and  all,  at  the  touching  sight. 

Hence  it  was  that  Salvina's  dazed  vision  now 
sought  vaguely  for  the  school-managers.  But  in 
another  instant  she  realized  that  this  present  solici- 
tude was  not  for  another  but  for  herself,  and  that  it 
had  nothing  of  the  theatrical.  A  remorseful  pang  of 
conscience  added  to  her  pains.     She  said  tremulously 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  273 

that  she  felt  better  and  was  gently  chided  for  over- 
study  and  admonished  to  go  home  and  rest. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  all  right  now,"  she  responded  in- 
stinctively. 

''But  I'll  take  your  class,"  Miss  Rolver  insisted, 
and  Salvina  found  herself  wandering  outside  in  the 
free  sunshine,  with  a  sense  of  the  forbidden.  An 
acute  consciousness  of  Board  School  classes  droning 
dutifully  all  over  London  made  the  streets  at  that 
hour  strange  and  almost  sinful.  She  went  to  the 
post-office  and  drew  out  as  much  of  her  money  as 
red  tape  allowed,  and  while  wandering  about  in 
Whitechapel  waiting  for  the  hour  of  her  rendezvous 
with  Lazarus,  she  had  time  to  purchase  a  coarse  but 
white  table-cloth,  a  plush  cover  embroidered  with 
"  Jerusalem  "  in  Hebrew,  and  a  gilt  goblet.  These 
were  for  the  Friday-night  table. 


But  the  Sabbath  brought  no  peace.  Though  mir- 
acles were  wrought  in  that  afternoon,  and,  except 
that  it  was  laid  in  the  kitchen,  the  Sabbath  table  had 
all  its  immemorial  air,  with  the  consecration  cup,  the 
long  plaited  loaves  under  the  "  Jerusalem,"  cover,  and 
the  dish  of  fried  fish  that  had  grown  to  seem  no  less 
religious ;  yet  there  could  be  no  glossing  over  the 
absence  of  the  gross-paunched  paternal  figure  that 
had  so  unctuously  presided  over  the  ceremony.     His 


274  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

vacant  place  held  all  the  emptiness  of  death,  and  all 
the  fulness  of  retrospective  profanation.  How  like 
he  was  to  Moss  M.  Rosenstein,  Salvina  thought  sud- 
denly. Lazarus  had  ignored  the  gilt  goblet  and  the 
shilling  bottle  of  claret,  and  was  helping  himself  from 
the  coffee-pot,  when  his  mother  cried  bitterly : 
**  What !  are  we  to  eat  like  the  animals  }  " 

"  Oh  bother  !  "  Lazarus  exclaimed.  "  You  know  I 
hate  all  these  mummeries.  I  wouldn't  say  if  they 
really  made  people  good.  But  you  see  for  your- 
self—" 

"Oh,  but  you  must  say  Kiddush,  Lazarus,"  said 
Salvina,  half  pleadingly,  half  peremptorily.  She 
fetched  the  prayer-book  and  Lazarus,  grumbling  in- 
articulately, took  the  head  of  the  table,  and  stumbled 
through  the  prayer,  thanking  God  for  having  chosen 
and  sanctified  Israel  above  all  nations,  and  in  love  and 
favour  given  it  the  holy  Sabbath  as  an  inheritance. 

But  oh !  how  tamely  the  words  sounded,  how  void 
of  that  melodious  devotion  thrilling  through  the  joy- 
ous roulades  of  the  father.  It  was  a  sort  of  symbol 
of  the  mutilated  home,  and  thus  Salvina  felt  it.  And 
she  remembered  the  last  ceremony  at  which  her 
father  had  presided  —  that  of  the  Separation  when 
the  Sabbath  faded  into  work-day  —  the  ceremony  of 
Division  between  the  Holy  and  the  Profane,  and 
she  shivered  to  think  it  had  indeed  marked  for  the 
unhappy  man  the  line  of  demarcation. 

'*  Blessed  art  thou,  Q  Lord  our  God,  who  hallowest 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  275 

the  Sabbath,"  Lazarus  was  mumbling,  and  in  another 
instant  he  was  awkwardly  distributing  the  ritual 
morsels  of  bread. 

But  the  mother  could  not  swallow  hers,  for  indig- 
nant imaginings  of  the  rival  Sabbath  board.  "  May 
her  morsel  choke  her !  "  she  cried,  and  nearly  was 
choked  by  her  own. 

"  Oh,  mother,  do  not  mention  her  —  neither  her  nor 
him. — Never  any  w<?r^,"  said  Salvina.  And  again 
the  new  note  of  peremptoriness  rang  in  her  voice, 
and  her  mother  stopped  suddenly  short  like  a  scolded 
child. 

"Will  you  have  plaice  or  sole,  mother.?"  Salvina 
went  on,  her  voice  changing  to  a  caress. 

"  I  can't  eat,  Salvina.     Don't  ask  me." 

"  But  you  must  eat."  And  Salvina  calmly  helped 
her  to  fish  and  to  coffee  and  put  in  the  lumps  of 
sugar;  and  the  mother  ate  and  drank  with  equal  calm, 
as  if  hypnotized. 

All  through  the  meal  Salvina's  mind  kept  swinging 
betwixt  the  past  and  the  future.  Strange  odds  and 
ends  of  scenes  came  up  in  which  her  father  figured, 
and  her  old  and  new  conceptions  of  him  interplayed 
bewilderingly.  Her  sudden  vision  of  him  as  Moss 
M.  Rosenstein  persisted,  and  could  only  be  laid  by 
concentrating  her  thoughts  on  the  early  days  when 
he  used  to  take  herself  and  Kitty  to  Victoria  Park, 
carrying  her  in  his  arms  when  she  was  tired.  But  it 
made  her  cry  to   see  that  little  tired  happy  figure 


276  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

cuddling  the  trusted  giant,  and  she  had  to  jump  for 
refuge  into  the  future. 

They  must  move  back  to  Hounsditch.  She  must 
give  up  the  idea  of  becoming  a  "  Bachelor "  :  the 
hours  of  evening  study  must  now  be  devoted  to  teach- 
ing others.  Her  University  distinction  was  already 
great  enough  to  give  her  an  unusual  chance  of  pupils, 
while  her  "  Yiddish,"  sucked  in  with  her  mother's 
milk,  had  become  exceptionally  good  German  under 
study.  She  might  hope  for  as  much  as  two  shillings 
an  hour  and  thus  earn  a  whole  sovereign  extra  per 
week. 

And  over  this  poor  helpless  blighted  mother,  she 
would  watch  as  over  a  child.  All  the  maternal  in- 
stinct in  her  awoke  under  the  stress  of  this  curiously 
inverted  position.  Her  remorseful  memory  sum- 
moned a  penitential  procession  of  bygone  petulances. 
Never  again  would  she  be  cross  or  hasty  with  this  ill- 
starred  heroine.  Yes,  her  mother  was  become  a  fig- 
ure of  romance  to  her,  as  well  as  a  nursling.  This 
woman,  whose  prosaic  humours  she  had  so  often  fret- 
ted under,  was  in  truth  a  woman  who  had  lived  and 
loved.  She  had  ceased  to  be  a  mere  mother ;  a  large 
being  who  presided  over  one's  childhood.  And  this 
imaginative  insight,  she  noted  with  surprise,  would 
never  have  been  hers  but  for  her  father's  desertion : 
like  one  who  realizes  the  virtues  of  a  corpse,  she  had 
waited  till  love  was  slain  to  perceive  its  fragrance. 

A  postman's  knock,  as  the  meal  was  finished,  made 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  '2.11 

her  heart  give  a  corresponding  pit-a-pat,  and  she 
turned  quite  faint.  All  her  nerves  seemed  to  be  on 
the  rack,  expecting  new  sensational  developments. 
The  letter  was  for  Lazarus. 

"  Ah,  you  abomination  !  "  cried  his  mother,  as  he 
tore  open  the  envelope.  He  did  not  pause  to  defend 
his  Sabbath  breaking,  but  cried  joyfully:  "What  did 
I  tell  you }  Granders  Brothers  offer  me  travelling 
expenses  and  a  commission  !  " 

"  Oh,  thank  God,  thank  God !  "  ejaculated  his 
mother,  her  eyes  raised  piously.  He  took  up  his  hat. 
"  Where  are  you  going .? "  said  Mrs.  Brill. 

''  To  see  Rhoda  of  course.  Don't  you  think  she's 
as  anxious  about  it  as  you  t " 

Salvina's  eyes  were  full  of  sympathetic  tears : 
"  Yes,  yes,  let  him  go,  mother." 

VI 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon,  feeling  much  better  for 
the  Saturday  rest,  and  scrupulously  gloved,  shod, 
and  robed  in  deference  to  the  grandeur  of  her  des- 
tination, Salvina  boarded  an  omnibus,  and  after  a 
tedious  journey,  involving  a  walk  at  the  end,  she 
arrived  at  the  West  End  square  in  which  her  sister 
bloomed  as  governess  and  companion  in  a  newly 
enriched  Jewish  family.  She  stood  an  instant  in 
the  porch  to  compose  herself  for  the  tragic  task 
before  her  and  felt  in  her  pocket  to  be  sure  she  had 


278  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

not  lost  the  little  bottle  of  smelling-salts  with  which 
she  had  considerately  armed  herself,  in  anticipation 
of  a  failure  of  Kitty's  nerves.  Then  she  knocked 
timidly  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  a  speck- 
less  boy  in  buttons,  who  also  opened  up  to  her 
imagination  endless  vistas  of  aristocratic  association. 
His  impressive  formality,  as  of  the  priest  of  a  shrine, 
seemed  untinged  by  any  remembrance  that  on  her 
one  previous  visit  she  had  been  made  free  of  the 
holy  of  holies.  But  perhaps  it  was  not  the  same 
boy.  He  was  indeed  less  a  boy  to  her  than  a  row 
of  buttons,  and  less  a  row  of  buttons  than  a  symbol 
of  all  the  elegances  and  opulences  in  which  Kitty 
moved  as  to  the  manner  born ;  the  elaborate  ritual 
of  the  toilette,  the  sacramental  shaving  of  poodles, 
the  mysterious  panoramic  dinners  in  which  one  had 
to  be  constantly  aware  of  the  appropriate  fork. 

Salvina  had  not  waited  a  minute  in  the  imposing 
hall,  ere  a  radiant  belle  flew  down  the  stairs  —  with 
a  vivacity  that  troubled  the  sacro-sanct  atmosphere 
—  and  caught  Salvina  in  her  arms. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  Sally !  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you," 
and  a  fusillade  of  kisses  accompanied  the  hug. 
"  Whatever  brings  you  here  .-*  Oh,  and  such  a  dowdy 
frock !  You  needn't  flush  up  so,  silly  little  child ; 
nobody  expects  you  to  know  how  to  dress  like  us 
ignoramuses,  and  it  doesn't  matter  to-day,  there's  no 
one  to  see  you,  for  they're  all  out  driving,  and  I'm 
lying  down  with  a  headache." 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  279 

"  Poor  Kitty.  But  then  you  ought  to  be  out  driv- 
ing." She  was  divided  between  sympathy  for  the 
sufferer,  and  admiration  of  the  finished,  fine  lady- 
hood implied  in  indifference  to  the  chance  of  a 
carriage-drive. 

"Yes,  but  I've  so  many  letters  to  write,  and  they 
don't  really  drive  on  Sundays,  just  stop  at  house 
after  house,  and  not  good  houses  either.  It  is  such 
a  bore.  They've  never  shaken  off  the  society  they 
had  before  they  made  their  money." 

"  Well,  but  that's  rather  nice  of  them." 

"  Perhaps,  but  not  nice  for  me.  But  come  up- 
stairs and  you  shall  have  some  tea." 

Salvina  mounted  the  broad  staircase  with  a  rever- 
ence attuned  to  her  own  hushed  footfalls,  but  her 
task  of  breaking  the  news  to  her  sister  weighed  the 
heavier  upon  her  for  all  this  subdued  magnificence. 
It  seemed  almost  profane  to  bring  the  squalid  epi- 
sodes of  Hackney  into  this  atmosphere,  appropriate 
indeed  to  the  sinful  romances  of  marquises  and 
epauletted  officers,  but  wholly  out  of  accord  with 
surreptitious  furniture  vans.  What  a  blow  to  poor 
Kitty  the  news  would  be !  She  dallied  weakly,  till 
the  tea  was  brought  by  a  powdered  footman.  Then 
she  had  an  ingenious  idea  for  a  little  shock  to  lead 
up  to  a  greater.  She  would  say  they  were  going 
to  move.  But  as  she  took  off  her  white  glove  not 
to  sully  it  with  the  tea  and  cake,  Kitty  cried  :  "  Why 
what  have  you  done  with  my  ring  } " 


280  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

Here  was  an  excellent  natural  opening,  but  Sal- 
vina  was  taken  too  much  aback  to  avail  herself  of  it, 
especially  as  the  artificial  opening  preoccupied  her 
mind.  "  Oh,  your  ring's  all  right,"  she  said  hastily ; 
*'  I  came  to  tell  you  we  are  going  to  move." 

Kitty  clapped  her  hands.  "  Ah  !  so  you've  taken 
my  advice  at  last!  I'm  so  glad.  It  wasn't  nice  for 
me  to  stay  with  you  at  that  dingy  hole,  even  for  a 
day  or  two  a  year.      Mustn't  mother  be  pleased ! " 

Salvina  bit  her  lip.  Her  task  was  now  heavier 
than  ever. 

"No,  mother  isn't  pleased.  She  is  crying  about 
it." 

"Crying.!*  Disgusting.  How  she  still  hankers 
after  Spitalfields  and  the  Lane  !  " 

"She  isn't  crying  for  that,  but  because  father 
won't  go  with  us." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  patience  with  father.  He  hasn't 
a  soul  above  red  herrings  and  potatoes." 

"  Oh,  yes  he  has.     He  has  left  us." 

"  What !  Left  you }  "  Kitty '.s  pretty  eyes  opened 
wide.     "  Because  he  won't  move  to  a  better  house  !  " 

"  No,  we  are  moving  to  a  worse  house  because  he 
has  moved  to  a  better." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about }  Is  it  a  joke  )  A 
riddle  1     I  give  it  up." 

"Father  —  can't  you  guess,  Kitty.'* — father  has 
gone  away.     There  is  some  other  woman." 

"No.?"    gasped    Kitty.     "Ha!     ha!     ha!    ha!*' 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  281 

and  she  shook  with  long  peals  of  silvery  laughter. 
"  Well,  of  all  the  funny  things  !     Ha  !  ha !  ha !  " 

"■  Funny!  "  and  Salvina  looked  at  her  sternly. 

"What,  don't  you  see  the  humour  of  it?  Father 
turning  into  the  hero  of  a  novelette.  Romance  and 
red  herrings!  Passion  and  potatoes!  Ha!  ha! 
ha!" 

**  If  you  had  seen  the  havoc  it  v^rrought,  you 
wouldn't  have  had  the  heart  to  laugh." 

"  Oh  well,  mother  was  crying.  That  I  understand. 
But  that's  nothing  new  for  her.  She'd  cry  just  as 
much  if  he  were  there.  The  average  rainfall  is  — 
how  many  inches  }  " 

Salvina's  face  was  stern  and  white.  "A  mother's 
tears  are  sacred,"  she  said  in  low  but  firm  protest. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  Sally,  I  always  forget  you  have  no 
sense  of  humour.  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it }  "  and  her  own  sense  of  humour  continued  to 
twitch  and  dimple  the  corners  of  her  pretty  mouth. 

"  I  told  you.  We  cannot  afford  to  keep  up  the 
house  —  we  must  go  back  to  apartments  in  Spital- 
fields." 

Instantly  Kitty's  face  grew  as  serious  as  Salvina's. 
"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  she  said  instinctively.  The  thought 
of  her  family  returning  to  the  discarded  shell  of  apart- 
ments was  humiliating ;  her  own  personality  seemed 
being  dragged  back. 

"  We  can't  pay  the  rent.  We  must  give  a  quarter's 
notice  at  once." 


282  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

"Absurd !  You'll  only  save  a  few  shillings  a 
week.  Why  can't  you  let  apartments  yourselves  ? 
At  least  you  would  preserve  a  decent  appearance." 

"  Is  it  worth  while  having  the  responsibility  of  the 
rent }  There's  only  mother  and  I  —  we  shan't  need 
a  house." 

''  But  there's  Lazarus  !  " 

"  He'll  have  a  place  of  his  own.  He'll  marry  be- 
fore our  notice  expires." 

"  That  same  Jonas  girl .?  " 

''Yes." 

"  Ridiculous.  Small  tradespeople,  and  dreadfully 
common,  all  the  lot.  I  thought  he'd  got  over  his 
passion  for  that  bold  black  creature  who's  been  seen 
licking  ice-cream  out  of  a  street-glass.  To  connect 
us  with  that  family !  Men  are  so  selfish.  But  I  still 
don't  see  why  you  can't  remain  as  you  are  —  let  your 
drawing-room,  say,  furnished." 

"But  it  isn't  furnished." 

"  Not  furnished.  Why,  I've  sat  on  the  couch  my- 
self." 

"Yes,"  said  Salvina,  a  faint  smile  tempering  her 
deadly  gravity.  "  You  are  the  only  person  who  has 
ever  done  that.  But  there's  no  couch  now.  Father 
smuggled  all  the  furniture  away  in  a  van." 

Again  Kitty's  silver  laughter  rang  out  unquench- 
ably. 

"And  you  don't  call  that  funny  !  Eloped  with  the 
chairs  !     I  call  it  killing." 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  283 

**  Yes,  for  mother,"  said  Salvina. 

"  Pooh  !  She'll  outlive  all  of  us.  I  wish  you  were 
as  sure  of  getting  the  furniture  back.  She's  not  a 
bad  mother,  as  mothers  go,  but  you  take  her  too 
seriously." 

"  But,  Kitty,  consider  the  disgrace  !  " 

"  The  disgrace  of  having  a  wicked  parent !  I've 
endured  for  years  the  disgrace  of  having  a  poor  one 
—  and  that's  worse.  My  people  —  the  Samuelsons, 
I  mean  —  will  never  even  hear  of  the  pater's  esca- 
pade —  gossip  keeps  strictly  to  its  station.  And  even 
if  they  do,  they  know  already  my  family's  under  a 
cloud,  and  they  have  learned  to  accept  me  for  my- 
self." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  don't  mind,"  said  Salvina, 
half-relieved,  half-shocked. 

"  I  mind,  if  it  makes  you  uncomfortable,  you  dear,, 
silly  Sally." 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  me.  I  think  I'll  go  back 
to  mother,  now." 

"  Nonsense,  why,  we  haven't  begun  to  talk  yet. 
Have  another  cup  of  tea.  No }  How's  old  Miss 
What's-a-name,  your  head-mistress }  Any  more 
frozen  little  kittens  t  " 

"  She's  very  kind,  really.  I'm  sorry  I  told  you 
about  the  kitten.  She  let  me  go  home  early  on. 
Friday." 

"  Why  }     To  track  the  van  .?  " 

**  No  ;  I  wasn't  very  well." 


2Q4  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"Poor  Sally  !"  and  Kitty  hugged  her  again.  "I 
daresay  you  were  more  upset  than  mother." 

Tears  came  into  Salvina's  eyes  at  her  sister's  affec- 
tionateness.  "  Oh,  no ;  but  please  don't  talk  about 
it  any  more.     Father  is  dead  to  us  now." 

"Then  we  must  speak  well  of  him." 

Salvina  shuddered.  "He  is  a  wicked,  heartless 
man,  and  mother  and  I  never  wish  to  see  his  face 
again." 

A  cloud  darkened  Kitty's  blonde  brow. 

"  Yes,  but  she  isn't  going  to  marry  another  man,  I 
hope." 

"  How  can  she  }  "  said  Salvina.  "  I  wouldn't  let 
her  make  any  public  scandal." 

"But  aren't  there  funny  laws  in  our  religion  — 
Get  and  things  like  that  —  which  dispense  with  the 
English  courts." 

"I  believe  there  are  —  I  read  about  something  of 
the  kind  in  a  novel  —  oh,  yes !  and  father  did  offer 
mother  Get  before  he  went  off,  so  I  suppose  he 
considers  his  conscience  clear." 

^  "Well,  I  rely  upon  you,  Sally,  to  see  that  she 
doesn't  marry  or  complicate  things  more.  We  don't 
want  two  wicked  parents." 

"  Of  course  not.  But  I  am  sure  she  doesn't  dream 
of  any  new  complications.  You  don't  do  her  justice, 
Kitty.  She's  just  broken-hearted ;  a  perpetual 
widow,  with  worse  than  her  husband's  death  to 
lament." 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  285 

**  Yes  —  her  lost  furniture." 

"  Oh,  Kitty,  do  realize  what  it  means." 

"  I  do,  my  dear.  I  do  realize  it  —  it's  too  killing. 
Passion  in  a  Pantechnicon  or  Elopements  economi- 
cally conducted.  By  the  day  or  hour.  Oh,  dear,  oh, 
dear !  But  do  promise  me,  Salvina,  that  you  won't 
go  back  to  Spitalfields." 

"  I  must  be  somewhere  near  the  school,  dearest. 
It  will  save  train-fares." 

Kitty  pouted.  "  Well,  you  know  I  couldn't  drive 
up  to  see  you  any  more;  Hackney  was  all  but  outside 
the  radius  —  the  radius  of  respectability.  I  couldn't 
ask  coachman  to  go  to  Spitalfields  —  unless  I  pre- 
tended to  be  slumming." 

^'Well,  pretend." 

"  Oh,  Salvina !  I  thought  you  were  so  conscien- 
tious. No,  I'll  have  to  come  in  a  cab.  You're  quite 
sure  you  won't  have  some  more  tea.?  Oh,  do,  I 
insist.     One  piece  of  sugar }  " 

"Yes,  thank  you,  dear.  By  the  way,  has  Sugar- 
man  the  Shadchan  been  here  ? " 

"  You  mean  — -  has  he  gone  ? " 

"  Oh,  poor  Kitty  !  It  was  my  fault.  I  let  him 
know  your  address.  I  do  hope  the  horrid  man 
hasn't  worried  you." 

"Sugarman.?" 

"No  —  Moss  M.  Rosenstein." 

"  How  pat  you  have  his  name !  But  why  do  you 
call  him  horrid  ? " 


286  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

Salvina  stared.  "But  have  you  seen  his  photo- 
graph?" 

"  Oh,  you  can't  go  by  photographs.  He  has  been 
here." 

"  What !  Sugarman  had  the  impudence  to  bring 
him !  " 

Kitty  flushed  slightly.  "  No,  he  called  alone  — 
this  afternoon,  just  before  you." 

"What  impertinence !  A  brazen  commercial  court- 
ship !     You  wouldn't  receive  him,  of  course." 

"Oh,  well,  I  thought  it  would  be  fun  just  to  look 
at  him,"  said  Kitty  uneasily.  "  A -commercial  court- 
ship, as  you  express  it,  is  not  unamusing." 

"  I  don't  see  anything  amusing  in  it  —  it's  an  out- 
rage." 

"  I  told  you  you  had  no  sense  of  humour.  I  find 
it  comic  to  be  loved  before  first  sight  by  a  man  who 
has  no  /^'s,  but  only  /'s,  ^'s,  and  ^'s." 

"  Sugarman  says  he  did  see  you  before  loving  you 
—  noticed  you  before  he  went  to  the  Cape.  But  you 
must  have  been  a  little  girl  then." 

"He  didn't  tell  me  that  —  that  would  have  been 
even  more  romantic.  He  only  said  he  fell  in  love 
with  my  photograph,  as  paraded  by  Sugarman." 

"Why,  where  should  Sugarman  get  —  " 

"You  never  know  what  mother's  been  up  to," 
interrupted  Kitty  dryly. 

"  Much  more  likely  father." 

"What's  the  odds.?  Do  have  another  piece  of 
cake." 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  287 

"  No,  thank  you.  But  what  did  you  say  to  the 
man  ? " 

"The  same  as  you.  Don't  stare  so,  you  stupid 
dear.     I  said,  No,  thank  you." 

"That  I  knew.  Of  course  you  couldn't  possibly 
marry  a  bloated  creature  from  the  Cape.  I  meant^ 
in  what  terms  did  you  put  him  in  his  place } " 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  Kitty,  laughing,  but  without  her 
recent  merriment.  "  This  is  too  prejudiced.  I 
can't  admit  that  mere  residence  in  the  Cape  is  a 
disqualification." 

"  Oh,  yes,  it  is.  *^  Why  do  they  go  there  }  Only  to 
make  money.  A  person  whose  one  idea  in  life  is 
money  can't  be  a  nice  person." 

"  But  money  isn't  his  one  idea  —  now  his  one  idea 
is  matrimony.    That  is  a  joke.    You  ought  to  laugh." 

"  It  makes  me  cry  to  think  that  some  nice  girl 
may  be  driven  into  marrying  him  just  for  his 
money." 

"  Poor  man !  So  because  of  his  money  he  is  to 
be  prevented  from  having  a  nice  wife." 

Salvina  was  taken  aback  by  this  obverse  view. 

"  How  is  he  ever  to  improve  .''  "  asked  Kitty,  pur- 
suing her  advantage. 

"Yes,  that's  true,"  Salvina  admitted.  "The  best 
thing  would  be  if  some  nice  girl  could  fall  in  love 
with  him.  But  that  doesn't  make  his  methods  less 
insulting.  I  wish  all  these  Shadchans  could  be 
slaughtered  off." 


288  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  What  a  savage  little  chit !  They  often  make  as 
good  marriages  as  are  made  in  heaven." 

"  Don't  tease.  You  know  you  think  as  I  do." 
Salvina  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her  sister, 
and  walked  down  the  soft  staircase,  confused  but 
cheerful.  The  boy  in  buttons  let  her  out.  To  do 
so  he  hurriedly  put  down  the  infant  of  the  house 
who  was  riding  on  his  shoulders.  Such  a  touch  of 
humanity  in  a  row  of  buttons  gave  Salvina  a  new 
insight  and  a  suspicion  that  even  the  powdered  foot- 
man who  brought  the  tea  might  have  an  emotion 
behind  his  gorgeous  waistcoat.  But  the  crowds 
fighting  for  the  omnibuses  that  fine  Sunday  after- 
noon depressed  her  again.  All  the  seats  outside 
were  packed,  and  it  was  only  after  standing  a  long 
time  on  the  pavement  that  she  squeezed  her  way 
into  an  inside  seat.  The  stuffiness  and  jolting  made 
her  feel  sick  and  dizzy.  By  a  happy  accident  her 
fingers  encountered  the  bottle  of  smelling-salts  in  her 
pocket,  and,  as  she  pulled  it  out  eagerly,  she  re- 
membered it  had  been  intended  for  Kitty. 

VII 

Lazarus  remained  out  late  that  evening,  and,  as 
he  had  forgotten  to  borrow  the  key,  Salvina  was 
sitting  up  for  him. 

She  utilized  the  time  in  preparing  her  sewing. 
She  was  making  a  night-dress  with  dozens  and  dozens 


.    THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  289 

of  tiny  tucks  at  the  breast,  all  run  by  hand,  and  she 
was  putting  into  the  fine  calico  an  artistic  needlework 
absolutely  futile,  and  with  its  perpetual  "  count  two, 
miss  two,"  —  infinitely  trying  to  the  eyes,  especially 
by  gas-light.  The  insane  competition  of  the  teachers, 
refining  upon  a  Code  in  itself  stupidly  exacting,  made 
the  needlework  the  most  distressing  of  all  the  tasks 
of  the  girl-teachers  of  that  day.  Salvina  herself, 
with  her  morbid  conscientiousness  and  desire  to 
excel,  underwent  nightmares  from  the  vexatiousness 
of  learning  how  to  cut  holes  so  that  they  could  not 
possibly  be  darned,  and  then  darning  them.  When, 
at  the  head-centre,  the  lady  demonstrator,  armed 
with  a  Brobdingnagian  whalebone  needle,  threaded 
with  a  bright  red  cord,  executed  herringboned  fan- 
tasias on  a  canvas  frame  resembling  a  vioHn  stand, 
it  all  looked  easy  enough.  But  when  Salvina  her- 
self had  to  unravel  a  little  piece  of  stockinette  with 
a  real  needle  and  then  fill  in  the  hole  so  as  to  leave 
no  trace  of  the  crime,  she  was  reduced  to  hysteria. 
Even  the  coloured  threads  with  which  she  worked 
were  a  scant  relief  to  the  eye.  And  all  this  elabor- 
ate fancywork  was  entirely  useless.  At  home  Sal- 
vina was  always  at  work,  darning  and  mending; 
never  was  there  a  defter  needle.  Even  the  "  hedge- 
tear-down  "  was  neatly  and  expeditiously  repaired,  so 
long  as  she  avoided  the  scholastic  methods.  "  What's 
all  this  madness  t "  her  mother  had  asked  once,  when 
she  had  tried  the  orthodox  "  Swiss  darning "  on  a 


290  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

real  article.  And  Mrs.  Brill  surveyed  in  amazement 
the  back  of  the  darn,  which  looked  like  Turkish 
towelling. 

To-night  Salvina  could  not  long  continue  her  tax- 
ing work.  Her  eyes  ached,  and  she  at  last  resolved 
to  rise  early  in  the  morning  and  proceed  with  the 
night-dress  then.  She  turned  the  gas  low,  so  as  to 
reduce  the  bill,  and  it  was  as  if  she  had  turned  down 
her  own  spirits,  for  a  strange  melancholy  now  took 
possession  of  her  in  the  silent  fuscous  kitchen  in  the 
denuded  house,  and  the  emptiness  of  the  other  rooms 
seemed  to  strike  a  chill  upon  her  senses.  There 
were  strange  creaks  and  ghostly  noises  from  all 
parts.  She  fixed  her  thought  on  the  one  furnished 
bed-room  now  occupied  by  her  mother,  as  on  a  sym- 
bol of  life  and  recuperation.  But  the  uncanny  noises 
went  on ;  rustlings,  and  patterings,  and  Salvina  felt 
that  she  might  shriek  and  frighten  her  mother.  She 
had  almost  resolved  to  turn  up  the  gas,  when  the 
sound  of  a  harmonium  came  muffled  through  the 
wall,  and  the  softened  voices  of  her  Christian  neigh- 
bours sang  a  Sunday  hymn.  Salvina  ceased  to  be 
alone ;  and  tears  bathed  her  cheeks,  as  the  crude 
melody  lilted  on.  She  felt  absorbed  in  some  great 
light  and  love,  which  was  somehow  both  a  present 
possession  and  a  beckoning  future  that  awaited  her 
soul,  and  it  was  all  mysteriously  mixed  with  the  blue 
skies  of  Victoria  Park,  in  those  far-off  happy  days 
when  she  had  gone  home  on  her  father's  shoulder; 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  291 

and  with  the  blue  skies  of  those  enchanted  sunUt 
lands  of  art  and  beauty,  in  which  she  would  wander 
in  the  glorious  future,  when  she  should  be  making  a 
hundred  and  fifty  a  year.  Paris,  Venice,  Athens, 
Madrid  —  how  the  mellifluous  syllables  thrilled  her  ! 
One  by  one,  in  her  annual  summer  holiday,  she  and 
her  mother  might  see  them  all.  Meantime  she  saw 
them  all  in  her  imagination,  bathed  in  the  light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land,  and  it  was  not  her  mother 
with  whom  she  journeyed  but  a  noble  young  Bayard, 
handsome  and  tender-hearted,  who  had  impercepti- 
bly slipped  into  her  mother's  place.  Poor  Salvina, 
with  all  her  modesty,  never  saw  herself  as  others  saw 
her,  never  lost  the  dream  of  a  romantic  love.  Laza- 
rus's  rat-tat  recalled  her  to  reality. 

"I  know  I'm  late,"  he  said,  with  apologetic  defi- 
ance, "  but  it's  no  pleasure  to  sit  in  an  empty  house. 
You  may  like  it,  but  your  tastes  were  always  peculiar, 
and  that  straw  mattress  on  the  floor  isn't  inviting." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  dear.  But  then  mother  must  have 
the  bed." 

"  Well,  it  won't  last  long,  thank  Heaven.  I  made 
the  Jonases  consent  to  the  marriage  before  the  scan- 
dal gets  to  them." 

"  So  soon  ! "  said  Salvina  with  unconscious  social 
satire. 

"  Yes,  and  we'll  have  our  honeymoon  traveUing 
for  Granders  Brothers.  She's  a  good  sort,  is  Rhoda, 
she  doesn't  mind  gypsying.     And  that  saves  us  from 


292  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

the  expense  of  completing  the  furniture."  He 
paused,  and  added  awkwardly,  "  I'd  lend  it  to  you, 
only  that  might  give  us  away." 

**  But  we  don't  need  the  furniture,  dear,  and  don't 
you  think  they  ought  to  know  —  it  is  the  rest  of  the 
world  that  it  doesnt  concern." 

"They  are  bound  to  know  after  the  marriage. 
We've  kept  it  dark  so  far,  thanks  to  being  in  Hack- 
ney away  from  our  old  acquaintances  and  to  mother's 
stinginess  in  not  having  encouraged  new  people  to 
drop  in.  I've  told  the  Jonases  father  was  ill  and 
might  have  to  go  away  for  his  health.  That'll  pave 
the  way  to  his  absence  from  the  wedding.  It  sounds 
quite  grand.     We'll  send  him  to  a  German  Spa." 

Salvina  did  not  share  her  brother's  respect  for  old 
Jonas,  who  bored  her  with  trite  quotations  from  Eng- 
lish literature  or  the  Hebrew  Bible.  He  was  in  sooth 
a  pompous  ignoramus,  acutely  conscious  of  being  an 
intellectual  hght  in  an  ignorant  society ;  a  green 
shade  he  wore  over  his  left  eye  added  to  his  air  of 
dignified  distinction.  Foreign  Jews  in  especial  were 
his  scorn,  and  he  seriously  imagined  that  his  own 
stereotyped  phrases  uttered  with  a  good  English  pro- 
nunciation gave  his  conversation  an  immeasurable 
superiority  over  the  most  original  thinking  tainted  by 
a  German  or  Yiddish  accent.  Salvina's  timid  correc- 
tions of  his  English  quotations  made  him  angry  and 
imperilled  Lazarus's  wooing.  The  young  man  was 
indeed  the  only  member  of  the  family  who  cultivated 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  293 

relations  with  the  Jonases,  though  now  it  would  be 
necessary  to  exchange  perfunctory  visits.  Lazarus 
presided  over  these  visits  in  fear  and  trembling, 
glossing  over  any  slips  as  to  the  father,  who  was 
gone  to  the  seaside  for  his  health.  On  second 
thoughts,  Lazarus  had  not  ventured  on  a  German 
Spa. 

VIII 

Ere  the  wedding-day  arrived,  Salvina  had  to  go  to 
the  seaside.  Clacton-on-Sea  was  the  somewhat  ple- 
beian place  and  the  school-fete  the  occasion.  Salvina 
looked  forward  to  it  without  much  personal  pleasure, 
because  of  the  responsibilities  involved,  but  it  was  a 
break  in  the  pupil-teacher's  monotonous  round  of 
teaching  at  the  school  and  being  taught  at  the 
Centres ;  and  in  the  actual  expedition  the  children's 
joy  was  contagious  and  made  Salvina  shed  secret 
tears  of  sympathy.  Arrived  at  the  beach  of  the 
stony,  treeless,  popular  watering-place,  most  of  the 
happy  little  girls  were  instantly  paddling  in  the  surf 
with  yells  of  delight,  while  the  tamer  sort  dug 
sand-pits  and  erected  castles.  Salvina,  whose  office 
on  this  occasion  was  to  assist  an  "  assistant  teacher," 
had  to  keep  her  eye  on  a  particular  contingent.  She 
sat  down  on  the  noisy  sunlit  sands  with  her  back  to 
the  sea-wall  so  as  to  sweep  the  field  of  vision.  Her 
nervous  conscientiousness  made  her  count  her  sheep 
at  frequent  intervals,  and  be  worried  over  missing 


294  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

now  this  one,  now  that  one.  How  her  heart  beat 
furiously  and  then  almost  stopped,  when  she  saw  a 
child  wading  out  too  far.  No,  decidedly  it  was  a 
frying  form  of  pleasure  for  the  teacher.  One  bright 
little  girl  who  had  never  beheld  the  sea  before  picked 
up  a  wonderfully  smooth  white  pebble,  and  bringing 
it  to  Salvina  asl^ed  if  it  was  worth  any  money. 
Salvina  held  it  up,  extemporizing  an  object  lesson  for 
the  benefit  of  the  little  bystanders. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  this  is  not  worth  any  money,  be- 
cause you  can  get  plenty  of  them  without  trouble, 
and  even  beautiful  things  are  not  considered  valuable 
if  anybody  can  have  them.  This  stone  was  polished 
without  charge  by  the  action  of  the  waves  washing 
against  it  for  millions  and  millions  of  years,  and  if 
it—" 

The  sudden  blare  of  a  brass  band  on  the  other  side 
of  the  sea-wall  made  her  turn  her  head,  and  there, 
in  a  brand-new  room  of  a  brand-new  house  on  the 
glaring  Promenade,  a  room  radiating  blatant  pros- 
perity from  its  stony  balcony,  she  perceived  her 
father,  in  holiday  attire,  and  by  his  side  a  woman, 
buxom  and  yellow-haired.  A  hot  wave  of  blood 
seemed  to  flood  Salvina  up  to  the  eyes.  So  there 
he  was  luxuriating  in  the  sun,  rich  and  careless.  All 
her  homely  instincts  of  work  and  duty  rose  in  burn- 
ing contempt.  And  poor  Mrs.  Brill  had  to  remain 
cooped  at  home,  drudging  and  wailing.  For  a  second 
she  felt  she  would  like  to  throw  the  stone  at  him,  but 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  295 

her  next  feeling  was  pain  lest  the  sight  of  her  should 
painfully  embarrass  him  ;  and  turning  her  face  swiftly 
seawards  she  went  on,  with  scarce  a  pause  percepti- 
ble to  the  Httle  girls,  "  If  it  gets  worn  away  some 
more  millions  of  years,  it  will  be  ground  down  to 
sand,  like  all  the  other  stones  that  were  once  here," 
and  as  she  spoke,  she  began  to  realize  her  own  words, 
and  a  tragic  sense  of  her  own  insignificance  in  this 
eternal  wash  of  space  and  time  seemed  to  reduce  her 
to  a  grain  of  sand,  and  blow  her  about  the  great 
spaces.  But  the  mood  passed  away  before  a  fresh 
upwelling  of  concrete  resentment  against  the  self- 
pampered  pair  at  the  Promenade  window.  Never- 
theless, her  feeling  of  how  their  seeming  satisfaction 
would  be  upset  at  the  sight  of  her,  made  her  carefully 
minimize  the  contingency,  and  the  dread  of  it  hovered 
over  the  day,  adding  to  the  worries  over  the  children. 
But  she  vowed  that  her  mother  should  be  revenged ; 
she,  too,  poor  wronged  one,  should  wallow  in  Prome- 
nade luxury  in  her  future  holidays ;  no  more  should 
she  be  housed  in  back  streets  without  sea-views. 

At  night,  after  Mrs.  Brill  was  in  bed,  Salvina  could 
not  resist  saying  to  Lazarus,  whose  supper  she  had 
been  keeping  hot  for  him  :  "  How  strange  !  Father 
is  at  the  seaside." 

"The  dickens!"  He  paused,  fork  in  hand. 
**  You  saw  him  at  Clacton-on-Sea  } " 

"  Yes,  but  don't  tell  mother.  So  we  didn't  tell  a 
lie  after  all.     I'm  so  glad." 


296  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Oh,  go  to  blazes,  you  and  your  conscience. 
Where  was  he  staying?" 

'*  In  a  house  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Promenade ; 
it's  simply  shocking !  " 

"  Make  me  some  fresh  mustard,  and  don't  moralize. 
Did  you  have  a  good  time  t " 

"  Not  very ;  a  little  cripple-girl  in  my  class  went 
paddling,  and  joking,  and  dropped  her  crutch,  and 
it  floated  away  —  " 

"Bother  your  little  cripple-girls.  They  always 
seem  to  be  in  your  class ! " 

"  Because  my  class  is  on  the  ground  floor." 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  Just  your  luck.  By  the  way," 
he  became  grave,  "look  what  a  beastly  letter  from 
Kitty !  Not  coming  to  the  wedding.  I  call  it 
awfully  selfish  of  her." 

Kitty  wrote  her  deep  regrets,  but  her  people  had 
suddenly  determined  to  go  abroad  and  she  could  not 
lose  this  chance  of  seeing  the  world ;  "  the  gov- 
erness's honeymoon,"  she  christened  it.  Paris, 
Switzerland,  Rome,  ^  all  the  magic  places  were  to 
be  hers,  —  and  Salvina,  reading  the  letter,  gasped 
with  sympathy  and  longing. 

But  the  happy  traveller  was  represented  at  the 
wedding  by  a  large  bronze-looking  knight  on  horse- 
back, which  towered  in  shining  green  over  the  in- 
significant gifts  of  the  Jonas's  circle ;  the  utilitarian 
salad-bowls,  and  fish-slices,  and  dessert  sets.  One 
other  present  stood  out  luridly,  but  only  to  Salvina. 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  297 

It  was  a  glossy  arm-chair,  and  on  the  seat  lay  a 
card  :  "  From  Rhoda's  loving  father-in-law."  When 
Salvina  first  saw  this  —  at  a  family  card-party,  the 
Sunday  evening  before  the  wedding  —  she  started 
and  flushed  so  furiously  that  Lazarus  had  to  give  her 
a  warning  nudge,  and  to  whisper  :  "  Only  for  appear- 
ance." At  the  supper-table  old  Jonas,  who  carved 
and  jested  with  much  appreciation  of  his  own  skill  in 
both  departments,  referred  facetiously  to  the  absent 
father,  who  might,  nevertheless,  be  said  to  be  "in  the 
chair  "  on  that  occasion. 

Salvina  dressed  her  mother  as  carefully  for  the 
ceremony  as  though  Kitty's  fears  were  being  real- 
ized and  Mrs.  Brill  was  the  bride  of  the  occasion; 
and  so  debonair  a  figure  emerged  from  the  ordeal 
that  you  could  recognize  Kitty's  mother  instead  of 
Salvina's.  Lazarus  had  spent  his  farewell  evening 
of  bachelorhood  at  an  hotel,  justly  complaining 
that  a  mirrorless  bed-room  with  a  straw  mattress 
was  no  place  for  a  bridegroom  to  issue  from. 
Never  had  bridegroom  been  so  ill-treated,  he  grum- 
bled; and  he  shook  his  fist  imaginatively  at  the 
father  who  had  despoiled  him. 

But  he  joined  his  mother  and  sister  in  the  cab ; 
and  as  it  approached  the  synagogue,  he  said  sud- 
denly :  "  Don't  be  shocked  —  but  I  rather  expect 
father  will  be  at  the  Shool  (synagogue)." 

"  What !  "  and  Mrs.  Brill  appeared  Hke  to  faint. 

"  He   wouldn't    have    the    cheek,"    Salvina    said 


298  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

reassuringly,  as  she  pulled  out  the  smelling-salts 
which  Kitty  had  not  needed. 

*'  He  wouldn't  have  the  cheek  not  to  come,** 
said  Lazarus.     "  I  asked  him." 

**  You  !  "     They  glared  at  him  in  horror. 

"  Yes ;  I  wasn't  going  to  have  things  look  funny 

—  I  hate  explanations.  The  Jonases  thought  there 
was  something  queer  the  other  night,  when  you 
both  bungled  the  explanation  of  the  rheumatism, 
spite  all  my  coaching." 

**  But  where  did  you  find  him  ? "  said  the  mother 
excitedly. 

"  At  Clacton-on-Sea." 

Salvina  bit  her  lip. 

"  I  sent  in  my  card,  —  *  Laurence  Beryl,  of  Gran- 
ders  Brothers.'  When  he  saw  me,  I  thought  he 
would  have  had  a  fit.  I  told  him  if  he  didn't 
come  up  to  the  wedding  and  play  heavy  father, 
I'd  summons  him  —  " 

"Summons  him!"  echoed  Mrs.  Brill. 

"  For  stealing  my  old  arm-chair.     I    remembered 

—  ha!  ha!  ha!  —  it  was  I  that  had  bought  the 
easy-chair  for  myself,  when  we  lived  in  Spitalfields 
and  had  only  wooden  chairs." 

"  So  he  did  send  that  easy-chair  !  "  said  Salvina. 

"Yes;  that  was  rather  clever  of  him.  And  don't 
you  think  it's  clever  of  me  to  save  appearances  t  " 

"  It'll  be  terrible  for  mother !  "  said  Salvina  hotly. 
"  Didn't  you  think  of  that .?  " 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  290 

"  She  won't  have  to  talk  to  him.  He'll  only  hang 
round.     Nobody  will  notice." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  to  tell  the  truth," 
cried  Salvina,  "or  even  a  lie.  This  is  only  acting 
a  lie.     And  it  must  be  as  painful  for  him  as  for  us." 

**  Serve  him  right  —  the  old  furniture-sneak  !  " 

"  It  was  a  mistake,"  Salvina  persisted. 

"Hush,  hush,  Salvina!"  said  Mrs.  Brill.  "Don't 
disturb  your  brother's  festival." 

"  He  has  disturbed  it  himself,"  said  Salvina,  burst- 
ing into  tears.     "  I  wish,  mother,  we  had  not  come." 

"  Here,  here !  This  is  a  pretty  wedding,"  said 
Lazarus. 

"Hush,  Salvina,  hush!"  said  Mrs.  Brill.  "What 
does  it  matter  to  us  if  a  dog  creeps  into  syna- 
gogue } " 

At  this  point  the  cab  stopped. 

"We're  not  there!  "  cried  Mrs.  Brill. 

"No,"  Lazarus  explained;  "but  we  pick  up  father 
here.     We  must  appear  to  arrive  together." 

Ere  the  horrified  pair  could  protest,  he  opened 
the  door,  sprang  out,  and  pushed  inside  a,  stout, 
rubicund  man  with  a  festal  rose  in  his  holiday 
coat,  but  a  miserable,  shamefaced  look  in  his  eyes. 
Lazarus  took  his  seat  ere  a  word  could  be  spoken. 
The  cab  rolled  on. 

"Good-morning,  Esther,"  he  muttered.  "I  of- 
fered you  Gity 

"  Silence ! "    cried   Salvina,   as   if    she   had    been 


300  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

talking  to  the  little  girls.  "  How  dare  you  speak 
to  her?  "  She  held  her  mother's  hand  and  felt  the 
pulse  beating  madly. 

"  You  old  serpent  —  "  began  Mrs.  Brill  hotly. 

"Mother!"  pleaded  Salvina;  "not  a  word;  he 
doesn't  deserve  it." 

"  In  Jerusalem  I  could  have  two  wives,"  he  mut- 
tered.    But  no  one  replied. 

The  four  human  beings  sat  in  painful  silence, 
their  knees  touching.  The  culprit  shot  uneasy, 
surreptitious  glances  at  his  wife,  so  radiant  in  jewels 
and  finery  and  with  so  Kitty-like  a  complexion.  It 
was  as  if  he  saw  her  freshly,  or  as  if  he  were 
shocked  —  even  startled  —  by  her  retaining  so  much 
joy  of  life  despite  his  desertion  of  her.  Fortunately 
the  strange  drive  only  lasted  a  few  minutes.  The 
bridegroom's  wedding-party  passed  into  the  syna- 
gogue through  an  avenue  of  sympathetic  observers. 

Mr.  Brill  had  no  part  to  play  in  the  ceremony. 
The  honours  were  carried  off  by  Mr.  Jonas,  who 
stalked  in  slowly,  with  the  bride  on  his  arm,  and  a 
new  green  shade  over  his  left  eye.  The  rival  father 
hovered  meekly  on  the  outskirts  of  the  marriage- 
canopy  amid  a  crowd  of  Jonases.  Salvina  stationed 
herself  and  her  mother  on  the  opposite  border  of  the 
canopy,  and  throughout  bristled,  apprehensive,  pro- 
hibitive, fiery,  like  a  spaniel  guarding  its  mistress 
against  a  bull-dog  on  the  pounce.  The  bull-dog  in- 
deed  was  docile  enough ;  avoiding  the  spaniel's  eye, 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  301 

and  trailing  a  spiritless  tail.  But  the  creature  revived 
at  the  great  wedding-feast  in  the  hall  of  a  hundred 
covers,  and  under  the  congratulations  and  the  conviv- 
ial influences  tended  to  forget  he  was  in  disgrace. 
The  bridegroom's  parents  were  placed  together,  but 
Salvina  changed  seats  with  her  mother,  and  became 
a  buffer  between  the  twain,  a  non-conducting  medium 
through  which  the  father  could  not  communicate  with 
the  mother.  With  the  latter  she  herself  maintained 
a  continuous  conversation,  and  Mr.  Brill  soon  found 
it  more  pleasant  to  forget  his  troubles  in  the  charms 
of  Mrs.  Jonas,  his  other  neighbour. 

After  the  almond-pudding,  a  succession  of  speakers 
ranging  from  relatives  to  old  friends,  and  even  the 
officiating  minister,  gave  certificates  of  character  to 
the  bride  and  the  bridegroom,  amid  the  tears  of  the 
ladies.  Father  Jonas  made  an  elaborate  speech  be- 
ginning, "Unaccustomed  as  I  am  to  public  speaking," 
and  interlarded  with  Hebrew  quotations.  Father 
Brill  expressed  the  pleasure  it  gave  him  to  acknow- 
ledge on  behalf  of  himself  and  his  dear  wife,  the  kind 
things  which  had  been  said,  and  the  delight  they  felt 
in  seeing  their  son  settled  in  the  paths  of  domestic 
happiness,  especially  in  connection  with  a  scion  of  the 
house  of  Jonas,  of  whose  virtues  much  had  been  said 
so  deservedly  that  night.  Lazarus  declared,  amid 
roars  of  laughter,  that  on  this  occasion  only  he  would 
respond  for  his  dear  wife,  but  he  felt  sure  that  for  the 
rest  of  their  lives  she  would  have  the  last  word.    Then 


802  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

the  tables  were  cleared  away  and  dancing  began,  which 
grew  livelier  as  the  dawn  grew  nearer.  But  long  be- 
fore that,  Salvina  had  borne  her  mother  away  from 
the  hovering  bull-dog.  Not,  however,  without  a  ter- 
rible scene  in  the  homeward  cab.  All  the  volcanic 
flames  Salvina  and  etiquette  had  suppressed  during 
the  day  shot  forth  luridly.  Burning  lava  was  hurled 
against  her  husband,  against  her  son,  against  Salvina. 
An  impassioned  inventory  of  the  lost  furniture  fol- 
lowed, and  the  refrain  of  the  whole  was  that  she  had 
been  taken  to  a  wedding,  when  all  she  wanted  was  a 
funeral. 

IX 

Salvina  did  not  count  this  break-down  against  her 
mother.  It  was  the  natural  revolt  of  nerves  tried 
beyond  endurance  by  Lazarus's  trick.  The  whole 
episode  intensified  her  sense  of  the  romantic  situation 
of  her  mother,  and  of  the  noble  courage  and  dignity 
with  which  she  confronted  it.  She  wondered  whether 
she  herself  would  have  emerged  so  stanchly  from 
the  ordeal  of  meeting  a  loved  but  faithless  one,  and 
her  protective  pity  was  tempered  by  a  new  admira- 
tion. Her  admiration  increased,  when,  as  the  secret 
gradually  leaked  out,  her  mother  maintained  an  atti- 
tude of  defiance  against  the  world's  sympathy,  re- 
fused to  hear  stigmatizations  of  her  husband,  even 
from  old  Jonas,  reserving  the  privilege  of  denunciation 
for  her  own  mouth  and  Salvina's  ear. 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  303 

And  now  began  the  new  life  of  mother  and  daugh- 
ter. With  Kitty  on  the  Continent,  Lazarus  married, 
and  the  father  blotted  out,  they  had  only  each  other. 
They  moved  back  to  the  skirts  of  the  Ghetto,  and 
Mrs.  Brill  resumed  with  secret  joy  her  old  place 
among  her  old  cronies.  Inwardly,  she  had  fretted  at 
the  loss  of  them,  for  which  the  dignity  of  Hackney 
had  been  but  a  shadowy  compensation.  But  to  Sal- 
vina  she  only  expressed  her  outraged  pride,  the 
humiliation  of  it  all,  and  the  poor  girl,  unconscious  of 
how  happy  her  mother  really  was  among  the  Ghetto 
gossips,  tortured  her  brain  during  school-hours  with 
the  thought  of  her  mother's  lonely  misery.  And  even 
if  Salvina  had  not  been  compelled  to  give  private  les- 
sons in  the  evenings  to  supplement  their  income, 
she  would  in  any  case  have  relinquished  her  Bache- 
lorhood aspirations  in  order  to  give  her  time  to  her 
mother.  For  Mrs.  Brill  had  no  resources  within  her- 
self, so  far  as  Salvina  knew.  Even  the  great  artificial 
universe  of  books  and  newspapers  was  closed  to  her. 
Salvina  resolved  to  overcome  her  obstinate  reluctance 
to  learn  to  read,  as  soon  as  the  pressure  of  the  other 
private  lessons  relaxed.  Meantime,  she  lived  for  her 
mother  and  her  mother  on  her. 

Oh,  the  bitterness  of  those  private  lessons  after  the 
fag  of  the  day ;  the  toiling  to  distant  places  on  tired 
feet;  the  grinding  bargains  imposed  by  the  well-to- 
do! 

One  of  these  fiends  was  a  beautiful  lady,  haughty, 


804  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIEN'CE 

with  fair  complexion  and  frosted  hair,  and  somehow 
suggested  to  Salvina  a  steel  engraving^  She  arranged 
graciously  that  Salvina  should  teach  her  little  girl 
conversational  German  at  half-a-crown  an  hour,  but 
when  Salvina  started  on  the  first  lesson  in  the  luxuri- 
ous Sanctum,  she  found  two  sweetly  dressed  sisters ; 
who,  she  was  informed,  could  not  bear  to  be  sepa- 
rated, and  might  therefore  be  considered  one.  The 
steel  engraving  herself  sat  there,  as  if  to  superintend, 
occasionally  asking  for  the  elucidation  of  a  point.  At 
the  second  lesson  there  were  two  other  little  girls, 
neighbours,  the  lady  informed  her,  who  had  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  opportunity  for  them  to  learn, 
too.  Salvina  expressed  her  pleasure  and  her  grati- 
tude to  her  patroness.  At  the  third  lesson  the  aunt 
of  the  two  little  girls  was  also  present  with  a  suspi- 
cious air  of  discipleship.  When  at  end  of  the  month, 
Salvina  presented  her  bill  at  five  shillings  an  hour, 
the  patroness  flew  into  a  towering  rage.  What  did  it 
matter  to  her  how  many  children  partook  of  the 
hour .?  An  hour  was  an  hour  and  a  bargain  a  bargain. 
Salvina  had  not  the  courage  or  the  capital  to  resist. 
And  this  life  of  ever  teaching  and  never  learning 
went  on,  week  after  week,  year  after  year.  For  when 
her  salary  at  the  school  increased,  the  additional 
burden  of  Lazarus  and  his  wife  and  children  fell 
upon  her.  For  her  feckless  brother  had  soon 
exhausted  the  patience  of  Granders  Brothers;  he 
had  passed  shiftlessly  from  employment  to  employ- 


THE   KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  305 

ment,  frequently  dependent  on  Salvina  and  his 
father-in-law  till  old  Jonas  had  declared,  with  all  the 
dignity  of  his  green  shade,  that  his  son-in-law  — 
graceless  offspring  of  a  graceless  sire  —  must  never 
darken  his  door-step  again. 

But  the  joy  Mrs.  Brill  found  in  her  grandchildren, 
the  filling-out  of  her  life,  repaid  Salvina  amply  for 
all  the  pinching  necessary  to  subsidize  her  brother's 
household.  She  winced,  though,  to  see  her  mother 
drop  thoughtlessly  into  the  glossy  arm-chair  pre- 
sented by  her  absentee  husband,  and  therein  en- 
sconced dandle  Lazarus's  children.  Salvina  was  too 
sensitive  to  remind  her  mother,  and  shrank  also  from 
appearing  fantastic.  But  that  chair  inspired  a  mor- 
bid repugnance,  and  one  day,  taking  advantage  of  the 
fact  that  the  stuffing  began  to  extrude,  she  bought 
Lazarus  a  new  and  better  easy-chair  without  saying 
why,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  noting  the  relegation 
of  the  old  one  to  a  bed-room. 

Two  bright  spots  of  colour  dappled  those  long, 
monotonous  years.  One  was  Kitty ;  the  other  was 
the  summer  holiday.  Kitty's  mere  letters  from  the 
Continent  —  she  wrote  twice  during  the  tour  —  were 
a  source  of  exhilaration  as  well  as  of  instruction. 
She  brought  nearer  all  those  wonderful  places  which 
Salvina  still  promised  herself  to  behold  one  day, 
though  year  after  year  she  went  steadily  to  Rams- 
gate.  For  her  mother  shrank  from  sea-voyages  and 
strange   places,  as  much  as  she  loved   the   familiar 


808  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

beach  swarming  with  Jewish  faces  and  nigger  min- 
strels. Even  Salvina's  little  scheme  of  enthroning 
her  mother  expensively  on  the  parade  at  Clacton-on- 
Sea,  that  mother  unconsciously  thwarted,  though 
she  endured  equivalent  splendour  at  Ramsgate  at 
three  guineas  a  week,  with  much  grumbling  over  her 
daughter's  extravagance. 

Once  indeed  when  Salvina  had  seriously  projected 
Paris  in  the  interest  of  her  French,  there  had  been 
a  quarrel  on  the  subject.  There  were  many  quarrels 
on  many  subjects,  but  it  was  always  one  quarrel  and 
had  always  the  same  groundwork  of  dialogue  on 
Mrs.  Brill's  part,  whatever  the  temporal  variations. 

**  A  nice  daughter !  To  trample  under  foot  her  own 
flesh  and  blood,  because  she  thinks  I'm  dependent 
on  her!  Well,  well,  do  your  own  marketing,  you 
little  ignoramus  who  don't  know  a  skirt  steak  from 
a  loin  chop ;  you'll  soon  see  if  I  don't  earn  my  keep. 
I  earned  my  living  before  you  were  born,  and  I  can 
do  so  still.  I'd  rather  live  in  one  room  than  have 
my  blood  shed  a  day  longer.  I'll  send  for  Kitty  — 
she  never  stamps  on  the  little  mother.  She  shan't 
slave  her  heart  out  any  more  among  strangers,  my 
poor  fatherless  Kitty.  No,  we'll  live  together,  Kitty 
and  I.  Lazarus  would  jump  at  us  —  my  own  dear, 
handsome  Lazarus.  I  never  see  him  but  he  tells 
me  how  the  children  are  crying  day  and  night  for 
their  granny,  and  why  don't  I  go  and  live  with  him .? 
He  wouldn't  spit  upon  the  mother  who  suckled  him, 


Tim  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  807 

and  even  Rhoda  has  more  respect  for  me  than  my 
own  real  daughter." 

Such  was  the  basal  theme ;  the  particular  vari- 
ation, when  the  holiday  was  concerned,  took  the 
shape  of  rehgious  remonstrance.  "And  where  am 
I  to  get  koshe7'  food  in  Paris?  In  Ramsgate  I  en- 
joy myself;  there's  a  kos/ie?'  butcher,  and  all  the 
people  I  know.     It's  as  good  as  London." 

Tears  always  conquered  Salvina.  She  had  an 
infinite  patience  with  her  mother  on  these  occasions, 
not  resenting  the  basal  theme,  but  regarding  it  as 
a  mere  mechanic  explosion  of  nervous  irritation, 
generated  by  her  lonely  life.  Sometimes  she  forgot 
this  and  argued,  but  was  always  the  more  sorry 
afterward.  Not  that  she  did  not  enjoy  Ramsgate. 
Her  nature  that  craved  for  so  much  and  was  con-^ 
tent  with  so  little  found  even  Ramsgate  a  Paradise 
after  a  year  of  the  slum-school,  to  which  she  always 
returned  looking  almost  healthy.  But  this  constant 
absorption  in  her  mother's  personality  narrowed  her 
almost  to  the  same  mental  bookless  horizon.  All 
the  red  blood  of  ambition  was  sucked  away  as  by 
a  vampire  ;  her  energy  was  sapped  and  the  unchang- 
ing rut  of  school-existence  combined  to  fray  away 
her  individuality.  She  never  went  into  any  society ; 
the  rare  invitation  to  a  social  event  was  always  re- 
fused with  heart-shrinking.  Every  year  made  her 
more  shy  and  ungainly,  more  bent  in  on  herself, 
and  on  the   little   round   of   school   and   home   life,. 


308  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

which  left  her  indeed  too  weary  in  brain  and  body 
for  aught  beside.  She  sank  into  the  scholastic  old 
maid,  unconsciously  taking  on  the  very  gait  and 
accent  of  Miss  Rolver,  into  the  limitations  of  whose 
life  she  had  once  had  a  flash  of  insight.  Yet  she 
was  unaware  of  her  decay ;  her  automatic  brain  was 
still  alive  in  one  corner,  where  the  dreams  hived  and 
nested.  Paris  and  Rome  and  the  wonder-places  still 
shone  on  the  horizon,  together  with  the  noble  young 
Bayard,  handsome  and  tender-hearted.  And  twice 
or  thrice  a  year  Kitty  would  flash  upon  the  scene  to 
remind  her  that  there  was  truly  a  world  of  elegance 
and  adventure.  Her  mother  had  begun  to  worry 
over  the  beautiful  Kitty's  failure  to  marry ;  she  had 
imagined  that  in  those  gilded  regions  she  would  have 
snapped  up  a  South  African  millionaire  or  other 
ingenuous  person.  How  nearly  Kitty  had  actually 
come  to  doing  so,  even  without  the  spring-board  of 
Bedford  Square,  Salvina  never  told  her.  She  had 
kept  both  Sugarman  and  Moss  M.  Rosenstein  from 
pestering  her  mother,  by  telling  the  Shadchan  that 
Kitty's  voice  and  Kitty's  alone  weighed  with  Kitty 
in  such  a  matter.  When  the  swarthy  capitahst  re- 
turned to  the  Cape,  despairing,  Salvina  had  written 
to  congratulate  her  sister  on  her  high-mindedness. 
In  the  years  that  followed,  she  had  to  endure  many 
a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  of  maternal  reproach  be- 
cause Kitty  did  not  marry,  but  Mrs.  Brill's  vengeance 
was  unconscious.     Kitty  herself  never  heard  a  word 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  309 

of  these  complaints;  to  her  the  mother  was  all 
wreathed  smiles,  for  she  never  came  without  bring- 
ing a  trinket,  and  every  one  of  these  trinkets  meant 
days  of  happiness.  The  little  lockets  and  brooches 
were  shown  about  to  all  the  neighbours  and  hitched 
them  on  to  the  bright  spheres  which  Kitty  adorned. 
Carriages  and  footmen,  soft  carpets  and  gilded  mir- 
rors gleamed  in  the  air.  "  My  Kitty  !  "  rolled  under 
Mrs.  Brill's  tongue  like  a  honeyed  sweet.  Kitty's  little 
gifts,  flashing  splendidly  on  the  everyday  dulness, 
made  more  impression  than  all  the  steady  monoto- 
nous services  of  Salvina.  For  the  rest,  Salvina 
conscientiously  repaid  these  gifts  in  kind  on  Kitty's 
birthdays  and  other  high  days. 

X 

When  Salvina  was  twenty-three  years  old  a  change 
came.  Lazarus  ceased  to  demand  assistance :  he 
was  cheery  and  self-confident,  and  inclined  to  chaff 
Salvina  on  her  prim  ways.  He  removed  to  a  larger 
house  and  her  easy-chair  disappeared  before  a  more 
elegant.  And  the  apparent  brightness  of  her 
brother's  prospects  brightened  Salvina's.  Her  sav- 
ings increased,  and,  under  the  continuous  profit  of 
his  self-support,  she  was  soon  able  to  meditate 
changes  on  her  own  account.  Either  she  would  give 
up  her  night-teaching  —  which  had  been  more  and 
more  undermining  her  system  —  or  she  would  pro- 


810  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

cure  her  mother  and  Kitty  a  delightful  surprise  by 
migrating  back  to  Hackney. 

Her  mind  hesitated  between  the  joyous  alterna- 
tives, lingering  voluptuously  now  on  one,  now  on  the 
other,  but  somehow  aware  that  it  would  ultimately 
choose  the  latter,  for  Kitty  on  her  rare  visits  never 
failed  to  grumble  at  the  lowness  of  the  neighbour- 
hood and  the  expense  of  cabs,  and  Mrs.  Brill  still 
yearned  to  see  horses  pawing  outside  her  door-step. 
But  an  unexpected  visit  from  Kitty,  not  six  weeks 
after  her  last,  and  equally  unexpected  in  place  —  for 
it  was  at  Salvina's  school  —  decided  the  matter  sud- 
denly. 

It  was  about  half-past  twelve,  and  Salvina,  long 
since  a  full  "  assistant  teacher,"  was  seated  at  her 
desk,  correcting  the  German  exercises  of  a  private 
pupil.  Sparsely  dotted  about  the  symmetric  benches 
were  a  few  demure  criminals  undergoing  the  punish- 
ment of  being  kept  in,  and  the  air  was  still  heavy 
with  the  breaths  and  odours  of  the  blissful  departed. 
A  severe  museum-case,  with  neatly  ticketed  speci- 
mens, backed  Salvina's  chair,  and  around  the  spacious 
room  hung  coloured  diagrams  of  animals  and  plants. 
Kitty  seemed  a  specimen  from  another  world  as  her 
coquettish  Leghorn  hat  flowering  with  poppies  burst 
upon  the  scholastic  scene. 

"Oh,  dear,  I  thought  you'd  be  alone,"  she  said 
pettishly. 

**  Is   it  anything  important }    The   children  don't 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  311 

matter,"  said  Salvina.     "You  can  tell  me  in  German. 
I  do  hope  nothing  is  the  matter," 

"  No,  nothing  so  alarming  as  that,"  Kitty  replied 
in  German.  "  But  I  thought  I'd  find  you  alone  and 
have  a  chat." 

"I  had  to  stay  here  with  the  children.  They  must 
be  punished." 

'"Seems  more  like  punishing  yourself.     But  have 
you  lunched,  then } " 

"  No."     Salvina  flushed  slightly. 

"No.?  What's  up.?  A  Jewish  fast!  Ninth  day 
of  Ab,  fall  of  Temple,  and  funny  things  like  that. 
One  always  seems  to  stumble  upon  them  in  the  East 
End." 

"  How  you  do  rattle  on,  Kitty ! "  and  Salvina 
smiled.  "  No,  I  shall  lunch  as  soon  as  these  chil- 
dren are  released." 

"  But  why  wait  for  that .?  " 

Salvina's  blush  deepened.  "Well,  one  doesn't 
want  to  eat  a  good  dinner  before  hungry  girls." 

"A  good  dinner !  Why,  what  in  heaven's  name  do 
you  get }     Truffles  and  plovers'  eggs } " 

"  No,  but  I  get  a  very  good  meal  sent  in  from  the 
Cooking  Centre  opposite,  and  compared  with  what 
these  girls  get  at  home,  steak  and  potatoes  are  the 
luxuries  of  Lucullus." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  beheve  it.  They  all  look  fatter  than 
you.  Then  this  is  double  punishment  for  you  — 
extra  work  and  hunger.     Do  send  them  away.     They 


312  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

get  on  my  nerves.  And  have  your  lunch  like  a  sen- 
sible being."  And  without  waiting  for  Salvina's 
assent :    "  Go  along,  girls,"  she  said  airily. 

The  girls  hesitated  and  looked  at  Salvina,  who 
coloured  afresh,  but  said,  "  Yes,  this  lady  pleads  for 
you,  and  I  said  that  if  you  all  promised  to  —  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  teacher,"  they  interrupted  enthusias- 
tically, and  were  off.  * 

"Well,  what  I  came  to  tell  you,  Sally,  is  that  I'm 
not  sure  of  my  place  much  longer." 

Salvina  turned  pale,  and  that  much-tried  heart  of 
hers  thumped  like  a  hammer.  She  waited  in  silence 
for  the  facts. 

"  Lily  is  going  to  be  married." 

"Well.-^  All  the  more  reason  for  Mabel  to  have 
a  companion." 

Kitty  shook  her  head.  "  It's  the  beginning  of  the 
end.  Marriage  is  a  contagious  complaint  in  a  family. 
First  one  member  is  taken  off,  then  another.  But 
that's  not  the  worst." 

*'  No  }  "     Poor  Salvina  held  her  breath. 

"  Who  do  you  think  is  the  happy  man  'i  You'll 
never  guess." 

"  How  should  I }     I  don't  know  their  circle." 

"Yes,  you  do.     I  mean,  you  know  him." 

Salvina  wrinkled  her  forehead  vainly. 

"  No,  you'll  never  guess  after  all  these  years ! 
Moss  M.  Rosenstein  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible  }  "  Salvina  gasped.  "  Lily  Samuel- 
son  ! " 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  313 

"Yes  —  Lily  Samuelson  !  " 

"  But  he  must  be  an  old  man  by  now," 

''Well,  she  isn't  a  chicken.  And  you  thought  it 
was  such  an  outrage  of  him  to  ask  for  me.  I  sup- 
pose having  once  got  inside  the  door  to  see  me,  he 
had  the  idea  of  aspiring  higher." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  higher,  Kitty.  Richer,  that's  all 
—  and  now,  I  should  say,  lower,  inasmuch  as  Lily 
Samuelson  stoops  to  pick  up  what  you  passed  by 
with  scorn.  And  picks  him  up  out  of  Sugarman's 
hand,  probably.'^ 

"  Yes,  it's  all  very  well,  and  it's  revenge  enough  in 
a  way  to  think  to  myself  what  I  do  think  to  myself, 
when  I  see  the  young  couple  going  on,  and  Moss  is 
mortally  scared  of  me,  as  I  shoot  him  a  glare,  now 
and  again.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  eggs  them 
on  to  get  rid  of  me.  It  would  be  too  bad  to  be  done 
out  of  everything." 

*'  Well,  we  must  hope  for  the  best,"  said  Salvina, 
kissing  her.  "After  all,  you  can  always  get  an- 
other place." 

"  I'm  getting  old,"  Kitty  said  glumly. 

"  You  old  !  "  and  the  anaemic  little  school-mistress 
looked  with  laughing  admiration  at  her  sister's  un- 
tarnished radiance.  But  when  Kitty  went,  and 
lunch  came,  Salvina  could  not  eat  it. 


314  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

XI 

It  was  clear,  however,  that  of  the  alternatives  — 
giving  up  the  night-work  or  returning  to  Hackney 
—  the  latter  was  the  one  favoured  by  Providence. 
Kitty  might  at  any  moment  return  to  the  parental 
roof,  and  there  must  be  something,  that  Kitty  would 
consider  a  roof,  to  shelter  her. 

On  Saturday  Salvina  went  house-hunting  alone  in 
Hackney,  and  there — as  if  further  pointed  out  by 
Providence  —  stood  their  old  house  *' To  let!"  It 
had  a  dilapidated  air,  as  if  it  had  stood  empty  for 
many  moons  and  had  lost  hope.  It  seemed  to  her 
symbolic  of  her  mother's  fortunes,  and  her  imagi- 
nation leapt  at  the  idea  of  recuperating  both.  Very 
soon  she  had  re-rented  the  house,  though  from  an- 
other landlord,  and  the  workmen  were  in  possession, 
making  everything  bright  and  beautiful.  Salvina 
chose  wall-papers  of  the  exact  pattern  of  aforetime, 
and  ordered  the  painting  and  decorations  to  repeat 
the  old  effects.  They  were  to  move  in,  a  few  days 
before  the  quarter. 

Her  happy  secret  shone  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  felt 
all  bright  and  refreshed,  as  if  she,  too,  were  being 
painted  and  cleaned  and  redecorated.  The  task  of 
keeping  it  all  from  her  mother  was  a  great  daily 
strain,  and  the  secret  had  to  overbrim  for  the  edifi- 
cation of  Lazarus.  Lazarus  hailed  the  change  with 
expressions  of  unselfish  joy,  that  brought  tears  into 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  316 

Salvina's  eyes.  He  even  went  with  her  to  see  how 
the  repairs  were  getting  on,  chatted  with  the  work- 
men, disapproved  of  the  landlord's  stinginess  in  not 
putting  down  new  drain  pipes,  and  made  a  special 
call  upon  that  gentleman. 

One  day  on  her  return  from  school  Salvina  found 
a  postcard  to  the  effect  that  the  house  was  ready  for 
occupation.  Salvina  was  for  once  glad  that  she  had 
never  yet  found  time  to  persuade  her  mother  to  learn 
to  read.  She  went  to  feast  her  eyes  on  the  new-old 
house  and  came  home  with  the  key,  which  she  hid 
carefully  till  the  Sunday  afternoon,  when  she  induced 
her  mother  to  make  an  excursion  to  Victoria  Park. 
The  weather  was  dull,  and  the  old  woman  needed  a 
deal  of  coaxing,  especially  as  the  coaxing  must  be  so 
subtle  as  not  to  arouse  suspicion. 

On  the  way  back  in  the  evening  from  the  Park, 
which,  as  there  was  an  unexpected  band  playing 
popular  airs,  her  mother  enjoyed,  Salvina  led  her  by 
the  old  familiar  highways  and  byways  back  to  the 
old  home,  keeping  her  engrossed  in  conversation  lest 
it  should  suddenly  befall  her  to  ask  why  they  were 
going  that  way.  The  expedient  was  even  more 
successful  than  she  had  bargained  for,  Mrs.  Brill's 
sub-consciousness  calmly  accepting  all  the  old  un- 
changed streets  and  sights  and  sounds,  while  her 
central  consciousness  was  absorbed  by  the  talk.  -  Her 
legs  trod  automatically  the  dingy  Hackney  Terrace 
to  which  she  had  so  often  returned  from  her  Park 


316  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

outing,  her  hand  pushed  open  mechanically  the  old 
garden-gate,  and  as  Salvina,  breathlessly  wondering 
if  the  spell  could  be  kept  up  till  the  very  last,  opened 
the  door  with  the  latch-key,  her  mother  sank  wearily, 
and  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  upon  the  accustomed 
hall-chair.  In  that  instant  of  maternal  apathy,  the 
astonishment  was  wholly  Salvina's.  That  hall-chair 
on  which  her  mother  sat  was  the  very  one  which  had 
stood  there  in  the  bygone  happy  years  ;  the  hat-rack 
was  the  one  with  which  her  father  had  *'  eloped  " ;  on 
it  stood  the  little  flower-pots  and  on  the  wall  hung  the 
two  engravings  of  the  trials  of  Lord  William  Russell 
and  Earl  Stafford  exactly  in  the  same  place,  and  fac- 
ing her  stood  the  open  parlour  with  all  the  old  furni- 
ture and  colour.  In  that  uncanny  instant  Salvina 
wondered  if  she  had  passed  through  years  of  hal- 
lucination. There  was  her  mother,  natural  and  un- 
concerned, bonneted  and  jewelled,  exactly  as  she 
had  come  from  Camberwell  years  ago  when  they  had 
entered  the  house  together.  Perhaps  they  were  still 
at  that  moment ;  she  knew  from  her  studies  as  well 
as  from  experience  that  you  can  dream  years  of  har- 
assing and  multiplex  experience  in  a  single  second. 
Perhaps  there  had  been  no  waking  hallucination ;  per- 
haps the  long  waiting  for  her  mother  to  appear  with 
the  house-key  had  made  her  sleepy,  and  in  that 
instant  of  doze  she  had  dreamed  all  those  horrible 
things  —  the  empty  house,  her  father's  flight,  his  re- 
appearance at  her  brother's  marriage;  the  long  years 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  317 

of  evening  lessons.  Perhaps  she  was  still  seventeen, 
studying  the  Greek  verbs  for  the  Bachelorhood  of 
Arts,  perhaps  her  mother  was  still  a  happy  wife. 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  let  herself  dwell 
upon  the  wondrous  possibility  a  second  or  so  longer 
than  she  believed  in  it.  For  the  smell  of  new  paint 
was  too  potent ;  it  routed  the  persuasions  of  the  old 
furniture.  And  in  another  instant  it  had  penetrated 
through  Mrs.  Brill's  fatigue.  She  started  up,  aware 
of  something  subtly  wrong,  ere  clearer  consciousness 
dawned. 

"  Michael !  "  she  shrieked,  groping. 

"  Hush,  hush,  mother !  "  said  Salvina,  with  a  pain 
as  of  swords  at  her  heart.  She  felt  her  mother  had 
stumbled  —  with  whatever  significance  —  upon  the 
word  of  the  enigma.  "Another  trick  has  been 
played  on  us." 

"A  trick !  "  Mrs.  Brill  groped  further.  "But  you 
brought  me.  How  comes  this  house  here.''  What 
has  happened  1 " 

"  I  wanted  to  surprise  you.  I  have  rented  the  old 
house,  and  some  one  else  has  put  in  the  old  furniture." 

"  Michael  is  coming  back  !  You  and  your  father 
have  plotted." 

"  Oh,  mother !  How  can  you  accuse  me  of  such  a 
thing ! "  All  the  expected  joy  of  the  surprise  had 
been  changed  to  anguish,  she  felt,  both  for  her  and 
for  her  mother.  Oh,  what  a  fatal  mistake !  "  I 
won't  have  the  furniture,  we'll  pitch  it  into  the  street 


318  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

—  we  are  going  to  live  here  together,  mammy,  you 
and  I,  in  the  old  home.     We  can  afford  it  now." 

She  laid  her  cheek  to  her  mother's,  but  Mrs.  Brill 
broke  away  petulantly  and  ran  toward  the  parlour. 
"And  does  he  think  I'll  have  anything  to  do  with 
him  after  all  these  years ! "  she  cried. 

"  Dear  mother,  he  doesn't  know  you  if  he  thinks 
that !  "  said  Salvina,  following  her. 

**  No,  indeed !  And  a  chip  out  of  my  best  vase, 
just  as  I  thought!  And  that  isn't  my  chair — he's 
shoved  me  in  one  of  a  worse  set.  The  horsehair  may 
seem  the  same,  but  look  at  the  legs  —  no  carving  at 
all.  And  where's  the  extra  leaf  of  the  table  }  Gone, 
too,  I  daresay.  And  my  little  gilt  shovel  that  used 
to  stand  in  the  fender  here,  what's  become  of  that } 
And  do  you  call  this  a  sofa }  with  the  castors  all  off ! 
Oh,  my  God,  she  has  ruined  all  my  furniture,"  and 
she  burst  into  hysteric   tears. 

Salvina  could  do  nothing  till  the  torrent  had  spent 
itself.  But  she  was  busy,  thinking.  She  saw  that 
again  her  brother  and  her  father  had  conspired  to- 
gether. Hence  Lazarus's  ofificiousness  toward  the 
landlord  and  the  workmen  —  that  he  might  easily  get 
the  entry  to  the  house.  But  perhaps  the  conspiracy 
had  not  the  significance  her  mother  put  upon  it.  Per- 
haps Lazarus  was  principal,  not  agent ;  in  the  flush 
of  his  new  prosperity  he  had  really  projected  a  gen- 
erous act ;  perhaps  he  had  resolved  to  put  the  coping- 
stone  on  the  surprise  Salvina  was  preparing  for  her 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  319 

mother,  and  had  hence  negotiated  with  the  father  for 
the  old  things.  If  so,  she  felt  she  had  not  the  right 
to  make  her  mother  refuse  them  ;  the  rather,  she 
must  hasten  at  once  to  Lazarus  to  pour  out  her 
appreciation  of  his  thoughtfulness. 

"Come  along,  mother,"  she  said  at  last,  "don't  sit 
there,  crying.  I  think  Lazarus  must  have  bought 
back  the  things  for  you.  You  see,  mammy,  I  wanted 
to  give  you  a  little  surprise,  and  dear  Lazarus  has 
given  me  a  little  surprise." 

"  Do  you  really  think  it's  only  Lazarus } "  asked 
Mrs.  Brill,  and  to  Salvina's  anxious  ear  there  seemed 
a  shade  of  disappointment  in  the  tone. 

"I'm  sure  it  is  —  father  couldn't  possibly  have  the 
impudence.     After  all  these  years,  too  !  " 

But  when  she  at  last  got  her  mother  to  Lazarus, 
that  gentleman  confessed  aggressively  that  he  had 
been  only  the  agent. 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't  let  the  poor  old 
man  come  back,"  he  said.  "  The  other  person  died 
a  year  ago,  only  nobody  liked  to  tell  mother,  she  was 
so  bristly  and  snappy." 

"Ah,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Brill  exultantly,  "then 
Heaven  has  heard  my  curses.  May  she  burn  in  the 
lowest.  Gehenna.  May  her  body  become  one  yellow 
flame  like  her  dyed  hair." 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Salvina  sternly.  "  God  shall  judge 
the  dead." 

"  Oh,  of  course  you  always  take  everybody's  part 


320  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

against  your  mother."  And  Mrs.  Brill  burst  into 
tears  again  and  sank  into  the  new  easy-chair. 

"  I  do  think  mother's  right,"  said  Lazarus  sullenly. 
"  Why  do  you  stand  in  her  way  }  " 

"  1 1 "     Salvina  was  paralyzed. 

"  Yes,  if  it  wasn't  for  you  —  " 

"  Mother,  do  you  hear  what  Lazarus  is  saying } 
That  I  keep  you  from  father !  " 

"  Father  !  A  pretty  father  to  you  !  He  waits  till 
she's  dead,  and  then  he  wants  to  creep  back  to  us. 
But  let  him  lie  on  her  grave.  He'll  swell  to  bursting 
before  he  crosses  my  door-step." 

"  There,  Lazarus,  do  you  hear }  " 

"  Yes,  I  hear,"  he  said  incredulously.  "  But  does 
she  know  what  father  offers  her  —  every  comfort, 
every  luxury.?     He  is  rich  now." 

"  Rich  .? "  said  Mrs.  Brill.     "  The  old  swindler  ! " 

"  He  didn't  swindle  —  he's  very  sorry  for  the  past 
now,  and  awfully  kind  and  generous." 

Salvina  had  a  flash  of  insight.  "  Ho  !  So  this  is 
why  —  "  She  checked  herself  and  looked  round  the 
handsome  room,  and  the  new  easy-chair  in  which  her 
mother  sat  became  suddenly  as  hateful  as  the  old. 

"  Well,  suppose  it  is } "  said  Lazarus  defiantly. 
"  I  don't  see  why  we  shouldn't  share  in  his  luck." 

**  And  where  does  the  luck  come  from } "  Salvina 
demanded. 

"What's  that  to  do  with  us.?  From  the  Stock 
Exchange,  I  believe." 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  821 

"And  where  did  he  get  the  money  to  gamble 
with?" 

**  Oh,  they  always  had  money." 

Salvina's  eyes  blazed.  The  nerveless  creature  of 
the  school  became  a  fury.     *'  And  you'd  touch  that !  " 

"  Hang  it  all,  he  owes  us  reparation.  You,  too, 
Salvina  —  he  is  anxious  to  do  everything  for  you. 
He  says  you  must  chuck  up  school  —  it's  simply 
wearing  you  away.  He  says  he  wants  to  take  you 
abroad  —  to  Paris." 

"  Oh,  and  so  he  thinks  he'll  get  round  mother  by 
getting  round  me,  does  he  .-*  But  let  him  take  his 
furniture  away  at  once,  or  we'll  pitch  it  into  the 
street.     At  once,  do  you  hear.?" 

"  He  won't  mind."  Lazarus  smiled  irritatingly. 
"  He  wants  to  put  better  furniture  in,  and  his  real 
desire  is  to  move  to  a  big  house  in  Highbury  New 
Park.  But  I  persuaded  him  to  put  back  the  old 
furniture  —  I  thought  it  would  touch  you  —  a  token, 
you  know,  that  he  wanted  *auld  lang  syne.'  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understood,"  said  Salvina,  and  then 
she  thought  suddenly  of  Kitty  and  a  burst  of  hysteric 
laughter  caught  her.  "  Elopements  economically 
conducted,"  went  through  her  mind.  "  By  the  day 
or  hour !  "  And  she  imagined  the  new  phrases  Kitty 
would  coin.  "The  Prodigal  Father  and  the  Pan- 
technicon"—  "The  old  Love  and  the  old  Furniture," 
and  the  wild  laughter  rang  on,  till  Lazarus  was  quite 
disconcerted. 


822  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  I  don't  see  where  the  fun  comes  in,"  he  said 
wrathfully.  "  Father  is  very  sorry,  indeed  he  is.  He 
quite  cried  to  me  —  on  that  very  chair  where  mother 
is  sitting.  I  swear  to  you  he  did.  And  you  have  the 
heart  to  laugh  !  " 

"  Would  you  have  me  cry,  too  }  No,  no ;  I  am 
glad  he  is  punished." 

"Yes  —  a  nice  miserable  lonely  old  age  he  has 
before  him." 

"  He  has  plenty  of  money." 

"  You're  a  cold,  unfeeling  minx !  I  don't  envy  the 
man  who  marries  you,  Salvina." 

Salvina  flushed.  "I  don't,  either  —  if  he  were  to 
treat  me  as  mother  has  been  treated." 

"  Yes,  no  one  has  had  a  life  like  mine,  since  the 
world  began,"  moaned  Mrs.  Brill,  and  her  waning 
tears  returned  in  full  flood. 

"  My  poor  mammy,"  and  Salvina  put  a  handker- 
chief to  the  flooded  cheeks.  "  Come  home,  we  have 
had  enough  of  this." 

Mrs.  Brill  rose  obediently. 

"  Oh,  yes,  take  her  home,"  said  Lazarus  savagely, 
"take  her  to  your  shabby,  stinking  lodging,  when 
she  might  have  a  house  in  Highbury  New  Park  and 
three  servants." 

"  She  has  a  house  at  Hackney,  and  I'll  give  her  a 
servant,  too.     Come,  mother." 

Salvina  mopped  up  her  mother's  remaining  tears, 
and  with  an  inspiration  of   arrogant   independence, 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  323 

she  rang  for  Lazarus's  servant  and  bade  her  hail  a 
hansom  cab. 

"  If  you  don't  want  all  Hackney  to  come  and  gaze 
at  a  furnished  road,"  she  said,  in  parting,  "you'll 
take  away  that  furniture  yourself." 

Mrs.  Brill  bowled  homeward,  half  consoled  for 
everything  by  this  charioted  magnificence.  Some 
neighbours  stood  by  gossiping  as  she  alighted,  and 
then  her  unspoken  satisfaction  was  complete. 


XII 

They  moved  into  the  new-old  house,  after  Salvina 
had  carefully  ascertained  that  the  furniture  had  re- 
turned to  the  cloud  under  which  it  had  so  long  lived. 
In  her  resentment  against  its  reappearance,  she 
spent  more  than  she  could  afford  on  the  rival  furni- 
ture that  succeeded  it,  and  which  she  now  studied  to 
make  unlike  it,  so  that  quite  without  any  touch  of  con- 
scious taste,  it  became  light,  elegant,  and  even  artistic 
in  comparison  with  the  old  horsehair  massiveness. 

Then  began  a  very  bad  year  for  Salvina,  even 
though  the  Damocles  sword  of  Kitty's  dismissal 
never  fell,  and  Lily's  migration  to  the  Cape  with 
Moss  M.  Rosenstein  left  Kitty  still  in  power  as 
companion  to  Mabel,  to  judge  at  least  by  Kitty's  not 
seeking  the  parental  roof,  even  as  visitor.  Mrs.  Brill's 
happiness  did  not  keep  pace  with  the  restored  gran- 
deurs and  Salvina's  own  spurt  of  hope  died  down. 


324  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

She  grew  wanner  than  ever,  going  listlessly  to  her 
work  and   returning  limp  and  fagged  out. 

**  You  mew  me  up  here  with  not  a  soul  to  speak  to 
from  morning  till  night,"  her  mother  burst  forth  one 
day. 

Salvina  was  not  sorry  to  have  her  mother's  silent 
lachrymosity  thus  interpreted.  But  she  regretted  that 
her  helpless  parent  had  not  expressed  her  satisfaction 
with  gossip  when  the  Ghetto  provided  it,  instead  of 
yearning  for  higher  scenes.  She  tried  again  to  per- 
suade Mrs.  Brill  to  learn  to  read  by  way  of  mental 
resource,  and  Mrs.  Brill  indeed  made  some  spasmodic 
efforts  to  master  the  alphabet  and  the  vagaries  of 
pronunciation  from  an  infant's  primer.  But  her  brain 
was  too  set ;  and  she  forgot  from  word  to  word,  and 
made  bold  bad  guesses,  so  that  even  when  "a  fat  cat 
sat  on  a  mat  "  she  was  capable  of  making  a  fat  cow 
eat  in  a  mug.  She  struggled  loyally  though,  except 
when  Salvina's  attention  relaxed  for  an  instant,  and 
then  she  would  proceed  by  leaps  and  bounds,  like  a 
cheating  child  with  the  teacher's  eye  off  it,  getting 
over  five  lines  in  the  time  she  usually  took  to  spell 
out  one,  and  paradoxically  pleased  with  herself  at  her 
rapid  progress. 

Salvina  was  in  despair.  There  is  no  creche  for 
mothers,  or  she  might  have  sent  Mrs.  Brill  to  one. 
She  bethought  herself  of  at  last  laying  on  a  servant, 
as  providing  the  desired  combination  of  grandeur 
and  gossip.     To  pay  for  the  servant  she  undertook 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  826 

two  hours  of  extra  night-teaching.  But  the  maid-of 
all-work  proved  only  an  exhaustless  ground  for 
grumbling.  Mrs.  Brill  had  never  owned  a  servant, 
and  the  girl's  deviation  from  angelhood  of  character 
and  unerring  perfection  of  action  in  every  domestic 
department  were  a  constant  disappointment  and 
grief  to  the  new  mistress. 

"A  nice  thing  you  have  done  for  me,"  she  wept  to 
Salvina,  having  carefully  ascertained  the  servant  was 
out  of  ear-shot,  "  to  seat  a  mistress  on  my  head  — 
and  for  that  I  must  pay  her  into  the  bargain." 

"  Aren't  you  glad  you  haven't  got  three  servants } " 
said  Salvina,  with  a  touch  of  irresistible  irony. 

"  Don't  throw  up  to  me  that  you're  saving  me 
from  falling  on  your  father.  I  can  be  my  own 
bread-winner.  I  don't  want  your  doll's  house  furni- 
ture that  one  is  scared  to  touch  —  like  walking 
among  eggshells.  I'd  rather  live  in  one  room  and 
scrub  floors  than  be  beholden  to  anybody.  Then 
I  should  'be  my  own  mistress,  and  not  under  a 
daughter's  thumb.  If  only  Kitty  would  marry,  then 
I  could  go  to  her.  Why  doesn't  she  marry  t  It 
isn't  as  if  she  were  like  you.  Is  there  a  prettier  girl 
in  the  whole  congregation .?  It's  because  she's  got 
no  money,  my  poor,  hardworking  little  Kitty.  Her 
father  would  give  her  a  dowry,  if  he  were  a  man, 
not  a  pig." 

"  Mother ! "  Salvina  was  white  and  trembling. 
"How  can  you  dream  of  that.''" 


326  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Not  for  myself.  I'd  see  him  rot  before  I'd  take 
a  farthing  of  his  money.  But  I'm  not  domineering 
and  spiteful  like  you.  I  don't  stand  in  the  way  of 
other  people  benefiting.  The  money  will  only  go 
to  some  other  vermin.  Kitty  may  as  well  have 
some." 

**  Lazarus  has  some.  That's  enough,  and  more 
than  enough." 

"  Lazarus  deserves  it  —  he  is  a  better  son  to  me 
than  you  are  a  daughter !  "  and  the  tears  fell  again. 

Salvina  cast  about  for  what  to  do.  Her  mother's 
nerves  were  no  doubt  entirely  disorganized  by  her 
sufferings  and  by  the  shock  of  Lazarus's  trick. 
Some  radical  medicine  must  be  applied.  But  every 
day  Duty  took  Salvina  to  school  and  harassed  her 
there  and  drove  her  to  private  lessons  afterward, 
and  left  her  neither  the  energy  nor  the  brain  for 
further  innovations.  And  whenever  she  met  Lazarus 
by  accident  —  for  she  was  too  outraged  to  visit  a 
house  practically  kept  up  by  dishonourable  money, 
apart  from  her  objection  to  its  perpetually  festive 
atmosphere  of  solo-whist  supper-parties  —  he  would 
sneer  at  her  high  and  mighty  airs  in  casting  out 
the  furniture.  "  Oh,  we're  very  grand  now,  we 
keep  a  servant;  we  have  cut  our  father  off  with  a 
shilling." 

She  wished  her  mother  would  not  go  to  see  Laza- 
rus, but  she  felt  she  had  not  the  right  to  interfere 
with  these  visits,  though  Mrs.   Brill  returned  from 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  827 

them,  fretful  and  restive.  Evidently  Lazarus  must 
be  still  insinuating  reconciliation. 

"  Lazarus  worries  you,  mother,  I  feel  sure,"  she 
ventured  to  say  once. 

"  Oh,  no,  he  is  a  good  son.  He  wants  me  to  live 
with  him." 

"  What !     On  her  money  ! " 

"It  isn't  her  money  —  your  father  made  it  on  the 
Stock  Exchange." 

"  Who  told  you  so  .?  " 

"  Didn't  you  hear  Lazarus  say  so  yourself .?" 

Then  a  horrible  suspicion  came  to  Salvina.  "  He 
doesn't  set  father  at  you  when  you  go  there  ? "  she 
cried. 

Mrs.  Brill  flushed  furiously.  "  I'd  like  to  see 
him  try  it  on,"  she  murmured. 

Salvina  stooped  to  kiss  her.  "  But  he  tells  you 
tales  of  father's  riches,  I  suppose." 

"  Who  wants  his  riches }  If  he  offered  me  my 
own  horse  and  carriage,  I  wouldn't  be  seen  with 
him  after  the  disgrace  he's  put  upon  me." 

"  I  wish,  mother,  Lazarus  had  inherited  your 
sense  of  honour." 

Mrs.  Brill  was  pleased.  "There  isn't  a  woman 
in  the  world  with  more  pride !  Your  father  made 
a  mistake  when  he  began  with  me ! " 


328  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

XIII 

A  horse  and  carriage  did  come,  one  flamboyant 
afternoon,  but  it  was  the  Samuelsons',  and  brought 
the  long-absent  Kitty.  And  Kitty  as  usual  brought 
a  present.  This  time  it  was  a  bracelet,  and  Mrs.  Brill 
clasped  and  unclasped  it  ecstatically,  feeling  that  she 
had  at  least  one  daughter  who  loved  her  and  did  not 
domineer.  Salvina  was  at  school,  and  Mrs.  Brill 
took  Kitty  all  over  the  house,  enjoying  her  approval, 
and  accepting  all  the  praise  for  the  lighter  and  more 
artistic  furniture.  She  told  her  of  the  episode  of  the 
return  of  the  old  furniture  —  "And  didn't  have  the 
decency  to  put  new  castors  on  the  sofa  she  had 
sprawled  on ! " 

Kitty's  laughter  was  as  loud  and  ringing  as  Sal- 
vina had  anticipated ;  Mrs.  Brill  coloured  under  it,  as 
though  she  were  found  food  for  laughter.  "  What  a 
ridiculous  person  he  is  !  "  Kitty  added  hastily. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brill  with  eager  pride  and  relief. 
"  He  thought  he  could  coax  me  back  like  a  dog  with 
a  bit  of  sugar." 

"■  It  would  be  too  funny  to  live  with  him  again.'* 
And  Kitty's  eyes  danced. 

"  Do  you  think  so .?  "  said  Mrs.  Brill  anxiously. 
And  under  the  sunshine  of  her  daughter's  approval 
she  confided  to  her  that  he  had  really  turned  up 
twice  at  Lazarus's,  beautifully  costumed,  with  dia- 
monds   on   his   fingers   and   a   white   flower   in    his 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  329 

button-hole,  but  that  she  had  repulsed  him  as  she 
would  repulse  a  drunken  heathen.  He  had  put  his 
arms  round  her,  but  she  had  shaken  him  off  as  one 
shakes  off  a  black  beetle. 

Kitty  turned  away  and  stuffed  her  handkerchief 
into  her  mouth.  She  knew  there  was  a  tragic  side, 
but  the  comic  aspect  affected  her  more. 

"Then  you  think  I  was  right.?"  Mrs.  Brill 
wound  up. 

"  Of  course,"  Kitty  said  soothingly.  "  What  do 
you  want  of  him  }  " 

"  But  don't  tell  Salvina,  or  she'd  eat  my  head  off." 
And  then,  the  eager  upleaping  fountain  of  her 
mother's  egoistic  babblings  beginning  at  last  to 
trickle  thinly,  Kitty  found  a  breathing-space  in  which 
to  inform  her  of  the  great  news  that  throbbed  in  her 
own  breast. 

"  Lily  Samuelson's  dead !  Mrs.  Rosenstein,  you 
know !  " 

"  Oh,  my  God ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Brill,  trembling 
like  a  leaf.  Nothing  upset  her  more  than  to  find 
that  persons  within  her  ken  could  actually  die. 

**  Yes,  we  had  a  cable  from  the  Cape  yester- 
day." 

"Hear,  O  Israel!  Let  me  see — yes,  she  must 
have  died  in  child-birth." 

"She  did — the  house  is  all  in  hysterics.  I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  I  ordered  the  carriage  and  came 
here." 


330  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  My  poor  Kitty  !  That  Lily  was  too  old  to  have 
a  baby.     And  now  he  will  marry  Mabel.'* 

"  Oh,  no,  mother." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will.  Mabel  will  jump  at  him,  you'll 
see. 

"But  it  isn't  legal  —  you  can't  marry  your  deceased 
wife's  sister." 

"I  know  you  can't  in  England — what  foolishness! 
But  they'll  go  to  Holland  to  be  married." 

"  Don't  be  so  absurd,  mother." 

"Absurd!"  Mrs.  Brill  glared.  "You  mark  my 
words.  They'll  be  in  Holland  before  the  year's 
out,  like  Hyam  Emanuel's  eldest  brother-in-law  and 
the  red-haired  sister  of  Samuel,  the  pawnbroker." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  if  they  are,"  said  Kitty,  yawning. 

"  Don't  care  !  Why,  you'll  lose  your  place.  They 
kept  you  on  for  Mabel,  but  now  — ■  " 

Kitty  cut  her  short.  "  Don't  worry,  mother.  I'll 
be  all  right.     He's  not  married  Mabel  yet." 

This  reminder  seemed  to  come  to  Mrs.  Brill  like 
a  revelation,  so  fast  had  her  imagination  worked. 
She  calmed  down  and  Kitty  took  the  opportunity  to 
seek  to  escape.  "  Tell  Salvina  the  news,"  she  said. 
"  She'll  be  specially  interested  in  it.  In  fact,  judging 
by  the  last  time,  she'll  be  more  excited  than  I  am," 
and  she  smiled  somewhat  mysteriously.  "  Tell  her 
I'm  sorry  I  missed  her  —  I  was  hoping  to  find  her 
having  a  holiday,  but  apparently  I  haven't  been 
lucky  enough  to  strike  some  Jewish  fast." 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  331 

But  partly  because  Mrs.  Brill  was  enraptured  by 
her  beautiful  daughter,  partly  to  keep  the  pompous 
equipage  outside  her  door  as  long  as  possible,  she 
detained  Kitty  so  unconscionably  that  Salvina  arrived 
from  school.  Kitty  flew  to  embrace  her  as  usual, 
but  arrested  herself,  shocked. 

"Why,  Sally!"  she  cried.  "You  look  like  a 
ghost!     What's  the  matter.?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Salvina  with  a  wan  smile.  "Just 
the  excitement  of  seeing  you,  I  suppose." 

Kitty  performed  the  postponed  embrace  but  re- 
mained dubious  and  shaken.  Was  it  that  her  mind 
was  morbidly  filled  with  funereal  images,  or  was  it 
that  her  fresh  eye  had  seen  what  her  mother's 
custom-blinded  vision  had  missed  —  that  there  was 
death  in  Salvina's  face } 

This  face  of  death-in-life  stirred  up  unwonted  emo- 
tions in  Kitty  and  made  her  refrain  apprehensively 
from  speaking  again  of  Lily's  death ;  and  some  days 
later,  when  the  first  bustle  of  grief  had  subsided  in 
Bedford  Square,  Kitty,  still  haunted  by  that  grew- 
some  vision,  wrote  Salvina  a  letter. 


'■"  My  dear  old  Sally, — You  must  really  draw  in  your  horns. 
You  were  not  looking  at  all  well  the  otlier  day.  You  are  burning 
the  candle  at  both  ends,  I  am  sure.  That  horrid  Board  School 
is  killing  you.  I  am  going  to  beg  a  fortnight's  holiday  for  you, 
and  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  Boulogne  for  a  week,  and  then, 
when  you  are  all  braced  up  again,  we  can  have  the  second  week 
at  Paris." 


332  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"My  dearest  and  best  of  Sisters,"  [Salvina  replied,] 
"  How  shocking  the  news  mother  has  told  me  of  the  death  of  poor 
Lily  !  If  she  did  wrong  she  was  speedily  punished.  But  let 
us  hope  she  really  loved  him.  I  am  sure  that  your  brooding 
on  her  sad  fate  and  your  sympathy  with  the  family  in  this  terri- 
ble affliction  has  made  you  fancy  all  sorts  of  things  about  me, 
just  as  mother  is  morbidly  apprehensive  of  that  horrible  creature 
marrying  Mabel  and  thus  robbing  you  of  your  place.  But  your 
sweet  letter  did  me  more  good  than  if  I  had  really  gone  to  Paris. 
How  did  you  know  it  was  the  dream  of  my  Ufe?  But  it  cannot 
be  realized  just  yet,  for  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  be 
spared  from  school  just  now.  Miss  Green  is  away  with  diph- 
theria, and  as  this  is  examination  time.  Miss  Rolver  has  her  hands 
full.  Besides,  mother  would  be  left  alone.  Don't  worry  about 
me,  darling.  I  always  feel  like  this  about  this  time  of  year,  but 
the  summer  holiday  is  not  many  weeks  off  and  Ramsgate  always 
sets  me  up  again. 


^'  Your  loving  sister. 


"  Salvina. 


"P.S.  Mother  told  me  you  advised  her  not  to  go  to  Laza- 
rus's  any  more,  and  she  isnH  going.  I  am  so  glad,  dear.  These 
visits  have  worried  her,  as  Lazarus  is  so  jDersistent.  I  am  only 
sorry  I  didn't  think  of  enlisting  your  influence  before  —  it  is 
naturally  greater  than  mine.     Good-bye,  dear. 

"P.P.S.  I  find  I  have  actually  forgotten  to  thank  you  for 
your  generous  offer.  But  you  know  all  that  is  in  my  heart,  don't 
you,  darling  ?  " 

All  the  same  Kitty's  alarm  began  to  communicate 
itself  to  Salvina,  especially  after  repeated  if  transient 
premonitions  of  fainting  in  her  class-room.  For 
virhat  would  happen  if  she  really  fell  ill }  She  could 
get  sick  leave  of  course  for  a  time ;  though  that 
would  bring  her  under  the  eagle  eye  of  the  Board 
Doctor,    before  which   every  teacher   quailed.      He 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  333 

might  brutally  pronounce  her  unfit  for  service. 
And  how  if  she  did  break  down  permanently  ?  Or 
if  she  died !  Her  savings  were  practically  nil ;  her 
salary  ceased  with  her  breath.  Who  would  support 
her  mother }  Kitty  of  course  would  nobly  take  up 
the  burden,  but  it  would  be  terribly  hard  on  her, 
especially  when  Mabel  Samuelson  should  come  to 
marry.  Not  that  she  was  going  to  die,  of  course; 
she  was  too  used  to  being  sickly.  Death  was  only 
a  shadow,  hovering  far  off. 

XIV 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  An  inspiration  came  to  her 
in  the  shape  of  a  pamphlet.  Life  Assurance !  Ah, 
that  was  it.  Scottish  Widows'  Fund !  How  pecul- 
iarly apposite  the  title.  If  her  mother  could  be  guar- 
anteed a  couple  of  thousand  pounds.  Death  would 
lose  its  sting.  Salvina  carefully  worked  out  all  the 
arithmetical  points  involved,  and  discovered  to  her 
surprise  that  life  assurance  was  a  form  of  gambling. 
The  Company  wagered  her  that  she  would  live  to  a 
certain  age,  and  she  wagered  that  she  would  not. 
But  after  a  world  of  trouble  in  filling  up  documents 
and  getting  endorsers,  when  she  went  before  the 
Company's  Doctor  she  was  refused.  The  bet  was 
not  good  enough.  "  Heart  weak,"  was  the  ruthless 
indictment.  "You  ought  not  to  teach,"  the  Doctor 
even  told  her  privately,  and  amid  all  her  consternation 


334  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

Salvina  was  afraid  lest  by  some  mysterious  brother- 
hood he  should  communicate  with  the  Board  Doctor 
and  rob  her  of  her  situation.  She  began  praying  to 
God  extemporaneously,  in  English.  That  was,  for 
her,  an  index  of  impotence.  She  was  at  the  end  of 
her  resources.  She  could  see  only  a  blank  wall,  and 
the  wall  was  a  great  gravestone  on  which  was 
chiselled:  '' Hie  jacet,  Salvina  Brill,  School  Board 
Teacher,  Undergraduate  of  London  University.  Un- 
loved and  unhappy." 

She  wept  over  the  inscription,  being  still  romantic. 
Poor  mother,  poor  Kitty,  what  a  blow  her  death  would 
be  to  them  !  Even  Lazarus  would  be  sorry.  And  in 
the  thought  of  them  she  drifted  away  from  the  rare 
mood  of  self-pity  and  wondered  again  how  she  could 
get  together  enough  money  before  she  died  to  secure 
her  mother's  future.  But  no  suggestion  came  even 
in  answer  to  prayer.  Once  she  thought  of  the  Stock 
Exchange,  but  it  seemed  to  her  vaguely  wicked  to 
conjure  with  stocks  and  shares.  She  had  read  arti- 
cles against  it.  Besides,  what  did  she  understand  } 
True,  she  understood  as  much  as  her  father.  But 
who  knew  whether  his  money  really  came  from  this 
source }  She  dismissed  the  Stock  Exchange  despair- 
ingly. 

And  meanwhile  Mrs.  Brill  continued  peevish  and 
lachrymose,  and  Salvina  found  it  more  and  more  dif- 
ficult to  hide  her  own  melancholy.  One  day,  as  she 
was  leaving  the  school-premises,  Sugarman  the  Shad- 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  336 

chan  accosted  her.  "  Do  make  a  beginning,"  he 
said  winningly.  "  Only  a  sixteenth  of  a  ticket.  You 
can't  lose." 

Sugarman  still  never  thought  of  her  even  as  a  ref- 
uge for  impecunious  bachelors,  but  with  that  shame- 
less pertinacity  which  was  the  secret  of  his  success, 
both  as  British  marriage-maker  and  continental  lot- 
tery agent,  he  had  never  ceased  cajoling  her  toward 
his  other  net.  He  was  now  destined  to  a  success 
which  surprised  even  himself.  Her  scrupulous  con- 
scientiousness undermined  by  her  analysis  of  the 
Assurance  System,  Salvina  inquired  eagerly  as  to 
the  prizes,  and  bought  three  whole  tickets  at  a  quar- 
ter of  the  price  of  one  Assurance  instalment. 

Sugarman  made  a  careful  note  of  the  numbers, 
and  so  did  Salvina.  But  it  was  unnecessary  in  her 
case.  They  were  printed  on  her  brain,  graven  on 
her  heart,  repeated  in  her  prayers ;  they  hovered 
luminous  across  her  day-dreams,  and  if  they  dis- 
tracted feverishly  her  dreams  of  the  night,  yet 
they  tinged  the  school-routine  pleasantly  and  made 
her  mother's  fretfulness  endurable.  They  actually 
improved  her  health,  and  as  the  May  sunshine 
warmed  the  earth,  Salvina  felt  herself  bourgeoning 
afresh,  and  she  told  herself  her  fears  were  morbid. 

ISl  evertheless  there  was  one  thing  she  was  re- 
solved to  complete,  in  case  she  were  truly  doomed, 
and  that  was  her  mother's  education  in  reading, 
so  often    begun,  so  often   foiled   by   her    mother's 


336  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

pertinacious  subsidence  into  contented  ignorance. 
Of  what  use  even  to  assure  Mrs.  Brill's  physical 
future,  if  her  mind  were  to  be  left  a  pauper,  de- 
pendent on  others  ?  How,  without  the  magic  re- 
source of  books,  could  she  get  through  the  long 
years  of  age,  when  decrepitude  might  confine  her 
to  the  chimney-corner?  Already  her  talk  groaned 
with  aches  and  pains. 

Since  the  servant  had  been  installed,  the  reading 
lessons  had  dropped  off  and  finally  been  discon- 
tinued. Now  that  Salvina  persisted  in  continuing, 
she  found  that  her  mother's  brain  had  retained 
nothing.  Mrs,  Brill  had  to  begin  again  at  the 
alphabet,  and  all  the  old  routine  of  audacious 
guessing  recommenced.  Again  a  fat  cow  ate  in 
a  mug,  for  though  Mrs.  Brill  had  no  head  at  all 
for  corrections,  she  had  a  wonderful  memory  for 
her  own  mistakes,  and  took  the  whole  sentence  at 
a  confident  jump.     It  was  an  old  friend. 

One  evening,  in  the  kitchen  to  which  Mrs.  Brill 
always  gravitated  when  the  servant  was  away,  she 
paused  between  her  misreadings  to  dilate  on  the 
inconsiderateness  of  the  servant  in  having  this  day 
out,  though  she  was  paid  for  the  full  week,  and 
though  the  mistress  had  to  stick  at  home  and  do  all 
the  work.  As  Salvina  seemed  to  be  spiritless  this 
evening,  and  allowed  the  domestic  to  go  unde- 
fended, this  topic  was  worn  out  more  quickly  than 
usual,  but  the  never  failing  subject  of  Mrs.  Brill's 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  337 

aches  and  pains  provided  more  pretexts  for  dodg- 
ing the  hard  words.  And  meantime  in  a  chair 
beside  hers,  poor  Salvina,  silent  as  to  her  own 
aches  and  pains,  and  the  faintness  which  was  com- 
ing over  her,  strained  her  attention  to  follow  in 
correction  on  the  heels  of  her  mother's  reading ; 
but  do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  keep  her 
eyes  continuously  on  the  little  primer,  and  when- 
ever Mrs.  Brill  became  aware  that  Salvina's  at- 
tention had  relaxed,  she  scampered  along  at  a 
breakneck  speed,  taking  trisyllables  as  unhesitat- 
ingly as  a  hunter  a  three-barred  gate.  But  every 
now  and  again  Salvina  would  struggle  back  into 
concentration,  and  Mrs.  Brill  would  tumble  at  the 
first  ditch. 

At  last,  Mrs.  Brill,  to  her  content,  found  herself 
cantering  along,  unimpeded,  for  a  great  stretch. 
Salvina  lay  back  in  her  chair,  dead. 

"The  broken  dancer  only  merry  danger,"  read 
Mrs.  Brill,  at  a  joyous  gallop.  Suddenly  the  knocker 
beat  a  frantic  tattoo  on  the  street  door.  Up  jumped 
Mrs.  Brill,  in  sheer  nervousness. 

Salvina  lay  rigid,  undisturbed. 

"  She's  fallen  asleep,"  thought  her  mother,  guiltily 
conscious  of  having  taken  advantage  of  her  slumbers. 
*'  All  the  same,  she  might  spare  my  aged  bones  the 
trouble  of  dragging  upstairs."  But,  being  already 
on  her  feet,  she  mounted  the  stairs,  and  opened  the 
door  on  Sugarman's  beaming,  breathless  face. 


338  THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE 

"Your  daughter  —  Number  75,814,"  he  gasped. 

Mrs.  Brill,  who  knew  nothing  of  Salvina's  specula- 
tions, took  some  seconds  to  catch  his  drift. 

**  What,  what }  "  she  cried,  trembling. 

"I  have  won  her  a  hundred  thousand  marks  — 
the  great  prize !  " 

"  The  great  prize  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Brill.  "  Sal- 
vina  !  Salvina  !  Come  up,"  and  not  waiting  for  her 
reply,  and  overturning  the  flower-pots  on  the  hall- 
table,  she  flew  downstairs,  helter-skelter.  "  Salvina !  " 
she  shook  her  roughly.  "  Wake  up  !  You  have  won 
the  great  prize  !  " 

But  Salvina  did  not  wake  up,  though  she  had  won 
the  great  prize. 

XV 

One  Sunday  afternoon  nearly  five  months  later  a 
nondescript  series  of  vehicles,  erratically  and  un- 
punctually  succeeding  one  another,  drew  up  near  the 
mortuary  of  the  Jewish  cemetery,  but,  from  the  pres- 
ence of  women,  it  was  obvious  that  something  else 
than  a  funeral  was  in  progress.  In  fact,  the  two 
four-wheelers,  three  hansom  cabs,  several  dog-carts, 
and  one  open  landau  suggested  rather  a  picnic  amid 
the  tombs.  But  it  was  only  the  ceremony  of  the  set- 
ting of  Salvina's  tombstone,  which  was  attracting  all 
these  relatives  and  well-wishers. 

In  the  »landau  —  which  gave  ample  space  for  their 
knees  —  sat '  the  same  quartette   that  had   shared   a 


THE  KEEPER   OF  CONSCIENCE  339 

cab  to  Lazarus's  wedding,  except  that  Salvina  was 
replaced  by  Kitty.  That  ever  young  and  beautiful 
person  was  the  only  member  of  the  family  who  had 
the  air  of  having  fallen  in  the  world,  for  despite  that 
Salvina's  great  prize  was  now  added  to  Mr.  Brill's 
capital  (he  being  the  legal  heir),  he  had  refused  to 
set  up  a  groom  in  addition  to  a  carriage.  A  coach- 
man, he  insisted,  was  all  that  was  necessary.  It  was 
the  same  tone  that  he  had  taken  about  the  horsehair 
sofa,  and  it  helped  Mrs.  Brill  to  feel  that  her  husband 
was  unchanged,  after  all. 

Arrived  on  the  ground,  the  Brills  found  a  gather- 
ing of  the  Jonases,  reconciled  by  death  and  riches. 
Others  were  to  arrive,  and  the  party  distributed  itself 
about  the  cemetery  with  an  air  of  conscious  incom- 
pleteness. Old  Jonas  shook  hands  cordially  with 
Lazarus,  and  wiped  away  a  tear  from  under  his  green 
shade.  A  few  of  Salvina's  fellow-teachers  had  obeyed 
the  notification  of  the  advertisement  in  the  Jewish 
papers,  and  were  come  to  pay  the  last  tribute  of  re- 
spect. The  men  wore  black  hat-bands,  the  women 
crape,  which  on  all  the  nearer  relatives  already  showed 
signs  of  wear.  And  among  all  these  groups,  con- 
versing amiably  of  this  or  that  in  the  pleasant  Octo- 
ber sunshine,  the  genteel  stone-mason  insinuated 
himself,  pervading  the  gathering.  His  breast  was 
divided  between  anxiety  as  to  whether  the  parents 
would  like  the  tombstone,  and  uncertainty  as  to 
whether  they  would  pay  on  the  spot. 


840  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

**  Have  you  seen  the  stone  ?  What  do  you  think 
of  it  ? "  he  kept  saying  to  everybody,  with  a  deferen- 
tial assumption  of  artistic  responsibihty ;  though,  as 
it  was  a  handsome  granite  stone,  the  bulk  of  the 
chiselling  had  been  done  in  Aberdeen,  for  the  sake 
of  economy,  whilst  the  stone  was  green,  and  his  own 
contribution  had  been  merely  the  Hebrew  lettering. 
One  by  one,  under  the  guidance  of  the  artist,  the 
groups  wandered  toward  the  tombstone,  and  a  spec- 
tator or  two  admiringly  opened  negotiations  for  future 
contingencies.  An  old  lady  who  knew  the  stone- 
mason's sister-in-law  strove  to  make  a  bargain  for  her 
own  tombstone,  quite  forgetting  that  the  money  she 
was  saving  on  it  would  not  be  enjoyed  by  herself. 

"What  will  you  charge  mef  she  asked,  with 
grotesque  coquetry.  **  I  think  you  ought  to  do  it 
cheaper  for  me'' 

And  in  the  House  of  the  Priests  the  minister  in 
charge  of  the  ceremonial  impatiently  awaited  the 
late  comers,  that  he  might  intone  the  beautiful 
immemorial  Psalms.  He  had  made  a  close  bargain 
with  the  cabman,  and  was  anxious  not  to  set  him 
grumbling  over  the  delay;  apart  from  his  desire  to 
get  back  to  his  pretty  wife,  who  was  "at  home" 
that  afternoon. 

At  last  the  genteel  stone-mason  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  piercing  through  the  throng  of  friends 
that  surrounded  Mr.  Brill,  and  of  obsequiously  in- 
viting the  generous  orderer  of  this  especially  hand- 


THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE  341 

some  and  profitable  tombstone  to  inspect  it.  Kitty 
followed  in  the  wake  of  her  parents.  Almost  at 
the  tomb,  a  corpulent  man  with  graying  hair,  issu- 
ing suddenly  from  an  avenue  of  headstones,  accosted 
her.     She  frowned. 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  come,"  she  said. 

"Since  I  belong  to  the  family,  Kitty,"  he  re- 
monstrated, playing  nervously  with  his  massive 
watch  seals. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  she  retorted.  Then,  relentingly : 
"  I  told  you,  Moss,  that  I  could  not  give  you  my 
formal  consent  till  after  my  sister's  tombstone  was 
set.  That  .is  the  least  respect  I  can  pay  her:" 
And  she  turned  away  from  the  somewhat  discon- 
certed Rosenstein,  feeling  very  right-minded  and 
very  forgiving  toward  Salvina  for  delaying  by  so 
many  years  her  marriage  with  the  South  African 
magnate. 

Meantime  Mr.  Brill,  in  his  heavily  draped  high 
hat,  stood  beside  the  pompous  granite  memorial, 
surveying  it  approvingly.  His  wife's  hand  lay  ten- 
derly in  his  own.  Underneath  their  feet  lay  the 
wormy  dust  that  had  once  palpitated  with  truth 
and  honour,  that  had  kept  the  conscience  of  the 
household. 

"That  bit  of  scroll-work,"  said  the  stone-mason 
admiringly,  and  with  an  air  of  having  thrown  it  in 
at  a  loss;  "you  don't  often  see  a  bit  like  that  — 
everybody's  been  saying  so." 


342  THE  KEEPER    OF  CONSCIENCE 

"  Very  fine !  "  replied  Mr.  Brill  obediently. 

"  I  paid  the  synagogue  bill  for  you  —  to  save  you 
trouble,"  added  the  stone-mason,  insinuatingly. 

But  Mr.  Brill  was  abstractedly  studying  the  stone, 
and  the  mason  moved  off  delicately.  Mrs.  Brill  tried 
to  spell  out  a  few  of  the  words,  but,  as  there  was  no 
one  to  reprimand  her,  admitted  her  break-down. 

"  Read  it  to  me,  dear  heart,"  she  whispered  to 
Mr.  Brill. 

"  I  did  read  it  you,  my  precious  one,"  he  said, 
"  when  Kitty  sent  it  us.     It  says  :  — 

"^Salvina  Brill, 
Whom  God  took  suddenly, 

On  May  29th,  1897, 

Aged  twenty-five  ; 
Loved  and  lamented  by  all 
For  her  perfect  goodness.' 

Then  come  the  Hebrew  letters." 

"Poor  Salvina!"  sighed  Mrs.  Brill.  "She  de- 
serves it,  though  she  did  spoil  our  lives  for  years." 
He  pressed  her  hand.  "  I  can't  tell  you  how 
frightened  I  was  of  her,"  she  went  on.  "  She  al- 
most made  me  think  I  ought  not  to  forgive  you 
even  on  the  Day  of  Atonement.  But  I  don't  bear 
her  malice,  and  I  don't  grudge  her  what  the  stone 
says." 

"No,  you  mustn't,"  he  said  piously.  "Besides, 
everybody  knows  one  never  puts  the  whole  truth 
on  tombstones." 


VIII 
SATAN    MEKATRIG 


VIII 
SATAN    MEKATRIG 

"  Suffer  not  the  evil  imagination  to  have  dominion  over  us  ... , 
deliver  me  from  the  destructive  Satan.''''  —  Morning  Prayer. 

Without,  the  air  was  hot,  heavy  and  oppressive ; 
squadrons  of  dark  clouds  had  rolled  up  rapidly  from 
the  rim  of  the  horizon,  and  threatened  each  instant 
to  shake  heaven  and  earth  with  their  artillery.  But 
within  the  little  synagogue  of  the  "  Congregation  of 
Love  and  Mercy,"  though  it  was  crowded  to  suffoca- 
tion, not  a  window  was  open.  The  worshippers, 
arrayed  in  their  Sabbath  finery,  were  too  intent  on 
following  the  quaint  monotonous  sing-song  of  the 
Cantor  reading  the  Law  to  have  much  attention  left 
for  physical  discomfort.  They  thought  of  their  per- 
spiring brows  and  their  moist  undergarments  just 
about  as  little  as  they  thought  of  the  meaning  of  the 
Hebrew  words  the  reader  was  droning.  Though  the 
language  was  perfectly  intelligible  to  them,  yet  their 
consciousness  was  chiefly  and  agreeably  occupied 
with  its  musical  accentuation,  their  piety  being  so 
interwoven  with  these  beloved  and  familiar  material 
elements  as  hardly  to  be  separable  therefrom.    Perspi- 

345 


346  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

ration,  too,  had  come  to  seem  almost  an  ingredient  of 
piety  on  great  synagogal  occasions.  Frequent  expe- 
rience had  Unked  the  two,  as  the  poor  opera-goer 
associates  Patti  with  crushes.  And  the  present  ivas 
a  great  occasion.  It  was  only  an  ordinary  Sabbath 
afternoon  service,  but  there  was  a  feast  of  intellectual 
good  things  to  follow.  The  great  Rav  Rotchinsky 
from  Brody  was  to  deliver  a  sermon ;  and  so  the 
swarthy,  eager-eyed,  curly-haired,  shrewd-visaged 
cobblers,  tailors,  cigar-makers,  peddlers,  and  beggars, 
who  made  up  the  congregation,  had  assembled  in 
their  fifties  to  enjoy  the  dialectical  subtleties,  the 
theological  witticisms  and  the  Talmudical  anecdotes 
which  the  reputation  of  the  Galician  Maggid  fore- 
shadowed. And  not  only  did  they  come  themselves ; 
many  brought  their  wives,  who  sat  in  their  wigs  and 
earrings  behind  a  curtain  which  cut  them  off  from 
the  view  of  the  men.  The  general  ungainliness  of 
their  figures  and  the  unattractiveness  of  their  low- 
browed, high-cheekboned,  and  heavy-jawed  faces 
would  have  made  this  pious  precaution  appear  some- 
what superfluous  to  an  outsider.  The  women,  whose 
section  of  the  large  room  thus  converted  into  a  place 
of  worship  was  much  smaller  than  the  men's,  were 
even  more  closely  packed  on  their  narrow  benches. 
Little  wonder,  therefore,  that  just  as  a  member  of 
the  congregation  was  intoning  from  the  central  plat- 
form the  blessing  which  closes  the  reading  of  the 
Law,  a  woman  disturbed  her  neighbours  by  fainting. 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  347 

She  was  carried  out  into  the  open  air,  though  not 
without  a  good  deal  of  bustle,  which  invoked  indig- 
nant remonstrances  in  the  Jiidisch-Deutsch  jargon,  of 
"  Hush,  little  women  !  "  from  the  male  worshippers, 
unconscious  of  the  cause.  The  beadle  went  behind 
the  curtain,  and,  fearing  new  disturbances,  tried  to 
open  the  window  at  the  back  of  the  little  room,  to  let 
in  some  air  from  the  back-yard  on  which  it  abutted. 
The  sash  was,  however,  too  inert  from  a  long  season 
of  sloth  to  move  even  in  its  own  groove,  and  so  the 
beadle  elbowed  his  way  back  into  the  masculine  de- 
partment, and  by  much  tugging  at  a  cord  effected  a 
small  slit  between  a  dusty  skylight  and  the  ceiling, 
neglecting  the  grumblings  of  the  men  immediately 
beneath. 

Hardly  had  he  done  so,  when  all  the  heavy  shad- 
ows that  lay  in  the  corners  of  the  synagogue,  all  the 
glooms  that  the  storm-clouds  cast  upon  the  day,  and 
that  the  grimy,  cobwebbed  windows  multiplied,  were 
sent  flying  off  by  a  fierce  flash  of  lightning  that  bathed 
in  a  sea  of  fire  the  dingy  benches,  the  smeared  walls, 
the  dingily  curtained  Ark,  the  serried  rows  of  swarthy 
faces.  Almost  on  the  heels  of  the  lightning  came 
the  thunder  —  that  vast,  instantaneous  crash  which 
denotes  that  the  electric  cloud  is  low. 

The  service  was  momentarily  interrupted  ;  the  con- 
gregation was  on  its  feet ;  and  from  all  parts  rose 
the  Hebrew  blessing,  ''  Blessed  art  thou,  O  Lord, 
performing  the  work  of  the  Creation ;  "  followed,  as 


348  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

the  thunder  followed  the  lightning,  by  the  sonorous 
"  Blessed  art  thou,  O  Lord,  whose  power  and  might 
fill  the  Universe."  Then  the  congregation,  led  by 
the  great  Rav  Rotchinsky,  to  whose  venerable 
thought-lined  face,  surmounted  by  its  black  cap,  all 
eyes  had  instinctively  turned,  sat  down  again,  feel- 
ing safe.  The  blessing  was  intended  to  mean,  and 
meant  no  more  than,  a  reverential  acknowledgment 
of  the  majesty  of  the  Creator  revealed  in  elemental 
phenomena ;  but  human  nature,  struggling  amid  the 
terrors  and  awfulness  of  the  Universe,  is  always  be- 
low its  creed,  and  scarce  one  but  felt  the  prayer  a 
talisman.  A  moment  afterward  all  rose  again,  as 
Moshe  Grinwitz,  wrapped  in  his  Talith,  or  praying- 
shawl,  prepared  to  descend  from  the  Al  Memor,  or 
central  platform,  bearing  in  his  arms  the  Scroll  of 
the  Law,  which  had  just  been  reverentially  wrapped 
in  its  bandages,  and  devoutly  covered  with  its  em- 
broidered mantle  and  lovingly  decorated  with  its 
ornamental  bells  and  pointer. 

Now,  as  Mosh6  Grinwitz  stood  on  the  Al  Mentor 
with  his  sacred  burden,  another  terrible  flash  of 
lightning  and  appalling  crash  of  thunder  startled  the 
worshippers.  And  Moshe's  arms  were  nervously 
agitated,  and  a  frightful  thought  came  into  his  head. 
Suppose  he  should  drop  the  Holy  Scroll !  As  this 
dreadful  possibility  occurred  to  him  he  trembled  still 
more.  The  SepJier  Torah  is  to  the  Jew  at  once  the 
most  precious  and  the  most  sacred  of   possessions, 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  349 

and  in  the  eyes  of  the  ''  Congregation  of  Love  and 
Mercy"  their  Sep  her  Torah  was,  if  possible,  invested 
with  a  still  higher  preciousness  and  sanctity,  because 
they  had  only  one.  They  were  too  poor  to  afford 
luxuries ;  and  so  this  single  Scroll  was  the  very  sym- 
bol and  seal  of  their  brotherhood ;  in  it  lay  the  very 
possibility  of  their  existence  as  a  congregation.  Not 
that  it  would  be  rendered  ^' Pasul,'  imperfect  and 
invalid,  by  being  dropped;  the  fall  could  not  erase 
any  of  the  letters  so  carefully  written  on  the  parch- 
ment ;  but  the  calamity  would  be  none  the  less  awful 
and  ominous.  Every  person  present  would  have  to 
abstain  for  a  day  from  all  food  and  drink,  in  sign  of 
solemn  grief.  Mosh6  felt  that  if  the  idea  that  had 
flitted  across  his  brain  were  to  be  realized,  he  would 
never  have  the  courage  to  look  his  pious  wife  in  the 
face  after  such  passive  profanity.  The  congregation, 
too,  which  honoured  him,  and  which  now  waited  to 
press  devout  kisses  on  the  mantle  of  the  Scroll,  on 
its  passage  to  the  Ark — he  could  not  but  be  degraded 
in  its  eyes  by  so  negligent  a  performance  of  a  duty 
which  was  a  coveted  privilege.  All  these  thoughts, 
which  were  instinctively  felt,  rather  than  clearly  con- 
ceived, caused  Moshe  Grinwitz  to  clasp  the  Sacred 
Scroll,  which  reached  a  little  above  his  head,  tightly 
to  his  breast.  Feeling  secure  from  the  peril  of  drop- 
ping it,  he  made  a  step  forward,  but  the  bells  jangled 
weirdly  to  his  ears,  and  when  he  came  to  the  two  steps 
tvhich  led  down  from  the  platform,  a  horrible  forebod- 


360  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

ing  overcame  him  that  he  would  stumble  and  fall  in 
the  descent.  He  stepped  down  one  of  the  steps  with 
morbid  care,  but  lo !  the  feeling  that  no  power  on 
earth  could  prevent  his  falling  gained  tenfold  in  in- 
tensity. An  indefinable  presentiment  of  evil  was 
upon  him ;  the  air  was  charged  with  some  awful  and 
maleficent  influence,  of  which  the  convulsion  of  na- 
ture seemed  a  fit  harbinger.  And  now  his  sensations 
became  more  horrible.  The  conviction  of  the  im- 
pending catastrophe  changed  into  a  desire  to  take 
an  active  part  in  it,  to  have  it  done  with  and  over. 
His  arms  itched  to  loose  their  hold  of  the  Sepher 
Torah.  Oh  !  if  he  could  only  dash  the  thing  to  the 
ground,  nay,  stamp  upon  it,  uttering  fearful  blas- 
phemies, and  shake  off  this  dark  cloud  that  seemed 
to  close  round  and  suffocate  him.  A  last  shred  of 
will,  of  sanity,  wrestled  with  his  wild  wishes.  The 
perspiration  poured  in  streams  down  his  forehead. 
It  was  but  a  moment  since  he  had  taken  the  Holy 
Scroll  into  his  arms  ;  but  it  seemed  ages  ago. 

His  foot  hovered  between  the  first  and  second 
step,  when  a  strange  thing  happened.  Straight 
through  the  narrow  slit  opened  in  the  skylight  came 
a  swift  white  arrow  of  flame,  so  dazzling  that  the 
awed  worshippers  closed  their  eyes ;  then  a  long  suc- 
cession of  terrific  peals  shook  the  room  as  with  de- 
moniac laughter,  and  when  the  congregants  came  to 
their  senses  and  opened  their  eyes  they  saw  Mosh6 
Grinwitz   sitting   dazed   upon   the   steps  of   the  Al 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  351 

Memory  his  hands  tightly  grasping  the  ends  of  his 
praying-shawl,  while  the  Sepher  Torah  \2i^  in  the 
dust  of  the  floor. 

For  a  moment  the  shock  was  such  that  no  one 
could  speak  or  move.  There  was  an  awful,  breath- 
less silence,  broken  only  by  the  mad  patter  of  the 
rain  on  the  roof  and  the  windows.  The  floodgates 
of  heaven  were  opened  at  last,  and  through  the  fatal 
slit  a  very  cascade  of  water  seemed  to  descend.  Au- 
tomatically the  beadle  rushed  to  the  cord  and  pulled 
the  window  to.  His  action  broke  the  spell,  and  a 
dozen  men,  their  swarthy  faces  darker  with  concern, 
rushed  to  raise  up  the  prostrate  Scroll,  while  a  hub- 
bub of  broken  ejaculations  rose  from  every  side. 

But  ere  a  hand  could  reach  it,  Mosh^  Grinwitz 
had  darted  forward  and  seized  the  precious  object. 
"No,  no,"  he  cried,  in  the  jargon  which  was  the 
common  language  of  all  present.  "  What  do  you 
want }  The  mitzvah  (good  deed)  is  mine.  I  alone 
must  carry  it."     He  shouldered  it  anew. 

"  Kiss  it,  at  least,"  cried  the  great  Rav  Rotchinsky 
in  a  hoarse,  shocked  whisper. 

"  Kiss  it }  "  cried  Moshe  Grinwitz,  with  a  sneering 
laugh.  "What !  with  my  wife  in  synagogue  !  Isn't 
it  enough  that  I  embrace  it .?  "  Then,  without  giving 
his  hearers  time  to  grasp  the  profanity  of  his  words, 
he  went  on :  "  Ah,  now  I  can  carry  thee  easily.  I 
can  hold  thee,  and  yet  breathe  freely.  See  !  "  And 
he  held  out  the  Scroll  lengthwise,  showing  the  gilded 


352  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

metal  chain  and  the  pointer  and  the  bells  contorted 
by  the  lightning.  "  I  didn't  hurt  thee ;  God  hurt 
thee,"  he  said,  addressing  the  Scroll.  With  a  quick 
jerk  of  the  hand  he  drew  off  the  mantle  and  showed 
the  parchment  blackened  and  disfigured. 

A  groan  burst  from  some ;  others  looked  on  in 
dazed  silence.  The  pecuniary  loss,  added  to  the 
manifestation  of  Divine  wrath,  overwhelmed  them. 
"Thou  hast  no  soul  now  to  struggle  out  of  my 
hands,"  went  on  Moshe  Grinwitz  contemptuously. 
*'  Look  !  "  he  added  suddenly  :  "  The  lightning  has 
gone  back  to  hell,  again ! "  The  men  nearest  him 
shuddered,  and  gazed  down  at  the  point  on  the  floor 
toward  which  he  was  inclining  the  extremity  of  the 
Scroll.  The  wood  was  charred,  and  a  small  hole  re- 
vealed the  path  the  electric  current  had  taken.  As 
they  looked  in  awestruck  silence,  a  loud  wailing  burst 
forth  from  behind  the  curtain.  The  ill-omened  news 
of  the  destruction  of  the  Sepher  Toi'ah  had  reached 
the  women,  and  their  Oriental  natures  found  relief  in 
profuse  lamentation.  "  Smell !  smell !  "  cried  Mosh^ 
Grinwitz,  sniffing  the  sulphurous  air  with  open  de- 
light. 

"  Woe  !  woe !  "  wailed  the  women.  "  Woe  has 
befallen  us ! " 

"  Be  silent,  all !  "  thundered  the  Maggid,  suddenly 
recovering  himself.  **  Be  silent,  women  !  Listen  to 
my  words.  This  is  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  for  the 
wickedness  ye  have  committed  in  England.     Since 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  353 

ye  left  your  native  country  ye  have  forgotten  your 
Judaism.  There  are  men  in  this  synagogue  that 
have  shaved  the  corners  of  their  beard ;  there  are 
women  who  have  not  separated  the  Sabbath  dough. 
Hear  ye  !  To-morrow  shall  be  a  fast  day  for  you  all. 
And  you,  Moshe  Grinwitz,  bench  gome  I —  thank  the 
Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  for  saving  your  life." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Moshe  Grinwitz.  "  You  talk  non- 
sense. If  the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  saved  my 
life,  it  was  He  that  threatened  it.  My  life  was  in 
no  danger  if  He  hadn't  interfered." 

To  hear  blasphemies  like  this  from  the  hitherto 
respectable  and  devout  Moshe  Grinwitz  overwhelmed 
his  hearers.  But  only  for  a  moment.  From  a  hun- 
dred throats  there  rose  the  angry  cry,  "  Epikouros ! 
Epikouros ! "  And  mingled  with  this  accusation  of 
graceless  scepticism  there  swelled  a  gathering  tumult 
of  "  His  is  the  sin !  Cast  him  out !  He  is  the 
Jonah  !  He  is  the  sinner  !  "  The  congregants  had 
all  risen  long  ago  and  menacing  faces  glared  behind 
menacing  faces.  Some  of  more  heady  temperament 
were  starting  from  their  places.  "  Mosh6  Grinwitz," 
cried  the  great  Rav,  his  voice  dominating  the  din, 
**  are  you  mad  }  " 

"  Now  for  the  first  time  am  I  sane,"  replied  the 
man,  his  brow  dark  with  defiance,  his  tall  but  usually 
stooping  frame  rigid,  his  narrow  chest  dilated,  his 
head  thrown  back  so  that  the  somewhat  rusty  high 
hat  he  wore  sloped  backward  half  off  his  skull.     It 


364  SATAN  ME  K A  TRIG 

was  always  a  strange,  arrestive  face,  was  Mosh^ 
Grinvvitz's,  with  its  sallow  skin,  its  melancholy  dark 
eyes,  its  aquiline  nose,  its  hanging  side-curls,  and  its 
full,  fleshy  mouth  embowered  in  a  forest  of  black 
beard  and  mustache ;  and  now  there  was  an  un- 
canny light  about  it  which  made  it  almost  weird. 
"  Now  I  see  that  the  Socialists  and  Atheists  are  right, 
and  that  we  trouble  ourselves  and  tear  out  our  very 
gall  to  read  a  Torah  which  the  Overseer  himself,  if 
there  is  one,  scornfully  shrivels  up  and  casts  beneath 
our  feet.  Know  ye  what,  brethren  }  Let  us  all  go 
to  the  Socialist  Club  and  smoke  our  cigarettes. 
Otherwise  are  you  mad  !  "  As  he  uttered  these  im- 
pious words,  another  flash  of  flame  lit  up  the  crowded 
dusk  with  unearthly  light ;  the  building  seemed  to 
rock  and  crash  ;  the  fingers  of  the  storm  beat  heavily 
upon  the  windows.  From  the  women's  compartment 
came  low  wails  of  fear :  "  Lord,  have  mercy  !  For- 
give us  for  our  sins !  It  is  the  end  of  the  world !  '* 
But  from  the  men's  benches  there  arose  an  inco- 
herent cry  like  the  growl  of  a  tiger,  and  from  all  sides 
excited  figures  precipitated  themselves  upon  the 
blasphemer.  But  Moshe  Grinwitz  laughed  a  wild, 
maniacal  laugh,  and  whirled  the  sacred  Scroll  round 
and  dashed  the  first  comers  against  one  another.  But 
a  muscular  Lithuanian  seized  the  extremity  of  the 
Scroll,  and  others  hung  on,  and  between  them  they 
wrested  it  from  his  grasp.  Still  he  fought  furiously, 
as  if  endowed  with  sinews  of  steel,  and  his  irritated 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  356 

opponents,  their  faces  bleeding  and  swollen,  closed 
round  him,  forgetting  that  their  object  was  but  to 
expel  him,  and  bent  on  doing  him  a  mischief.  An- 
other moment  and  it  would  have  fared  ill  with  the 
man,  when  a  voice,  whose  tones  startled  all  but  Mosh6 
Grinwitz,  though  they  were  spoken  close  to  his  ear, 
hissed  in  Yiddish :  "  Well,  if  this  is  the  way  the 
members  of  the  Congregation  of  Love  and  Mercy 
spend  their  Sabbath,  methinks  they  had  done  as  well 
to  smoke  cigarettes  at  the  Socialist  Club.  What  say 
ye,  brethren  }  "  These  words,  pregnant  and  deserved 
enough  in  themselves,  were  underlined  by  an  accent 
of  indescribable  mockery,  not  bitter,  but  as  gloating 
over  the  enjoyment  of  their  folly.  Involuntarily  all 
turned  their  eyes  to  the  speaker. 

Who  was  he.?  Where  did  he  spring  from,  this 
black-coated,  fur-capped,  red-haired  hunchback  with 
the  gigantic  marble  brow,  the  cold,  keen,  steely  eyes 
that  drew  and  enthralled  the  gazer,  the  handsome 
clean-shaven  lips  contorted  with  a  sneer.-*  None  re- 
membered seeing  him  enter  —  none  had  seen  him 
sitting  at  their  side,  or  near  them.  He  was  not  of 
their  congregation,  nor  of  their  brotherhood,  nor  of 
any  of  their  crafts.  Yet  as  they  looked  at  him  the 
exclamations  died  away  on  their  lips,  their  menacing 
hands  fell  to  their  sides,  and  a  wave  of  vague,  uneasy 
remembrance  passed  over  all  the  men  in  the  syna- 
gogue. There  was  not  one  that  did  not  seem  to 
know  him;  there  was  not  one  who  could  have  told 


356  >  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

who  he  was,  or  when  or  where  he  had  seen  him 
before.  Even  the  great  Rav  Rotchinsky,  who  had 
set  foot  on  EngUsh  soil  but  a  fortnight  ago,  felt  a 
stir  of  shadowy  recollection  within  him ;  and  his 
corrugated  brow  wrinkled  itself  still  more  in  the 
search  after  definiteness.  A  deep  and  sudden  silence 
possessed  the  synagogue ;  the  very  sobs  of  the  un- 
seeing women  were  checked.  Only  the  sough  of  the 
storm,  the  ceaseless  plash  of  the  torrent,  went  on  as 
before.  Without,  the  busy  life  of  London  pulsed, 
unchecked  by  the  tempest ;  within,  the  little  syna- 
gogue was  given  over  to  mystery  and  nameless  awe. 
The  sneering  hunchback  took  the  Holy  Scroll  from 
the  nerveless  hands  of  the  Lithuanian,  and  waved 
it  as  in  derision.  "  Blasted  !  harmless !  "  he  cried. 
"  The  great  Name  itself  mocked  by  the  elements ! 
So  this  is  what  ye  toil  and  sweat  for  —  to  store  up 
gold  that  His  words  may  be  inscribed  finely  on  choice 
parchment ;  and  then  this  is  how  He  laughs  at  your 
toil  and  your  self-sacrifice.  Listen  to  Him  no  more ; 
give  not  up  the  seventh  day  to  idleness  when  your 
Lord  worketh  His  lightnings  thereon.  Blind  your- 
selves no  longer  over  old-fashioned  pages,  dusty  and 
dreary.  Rise  up  against  Him  and  His  law,  for  He 
is  moved  with  mirth  at  your  mummeries.  He  and 
His  angels  laugh  at  you  —  Heaven  is  merry  with 
your  folly.  What  hath  He  done  for  His  chosen 
people  for  their  centuries  of  anguish  and  martyr- 
dom }     It  is  for  His  plaything  that  He  hath  chosen 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  857 

you.  He  hath  given  you  over  into  the  hand  of  the 
spoiler ;  ye  are  a  byword  among  nations ;  the  fol- 
lowers of  the  victorious  Christ  spit  in  your  faces. 
Here  in  England  your  lot  is  least  hard ;  but  even 
here  ye  eat  your  scanty  bread  with  sorrow  and 
travail.  Sleep  may  rarely  visit  your  eyes;  your 
homes  are  noisome  styes;  your  children  perish 
around  you;  ye  go  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave. 
Rouse  yourselves,  and  be  free  men.  Waste  your 
lives  neither  for  God  nor  man.  Or,  if  you  will  wor- 
ship, worship  the  Christ,  whose  ministers  will  pour 
gold  upon  you.  Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  for  to- 
morrow ye  die." 

A  charmed  silence  still  hung  over  his  auditors. 
Their  resentment,  their  horror,  was  dead ;  a  waft  of 
fiery  air  seemed  to  blow  over  their  souls,  an  intoxi- 
cating flush  of  evil  thoughts  held  riot  in  their  hearts. 
They  felt  their  whole  spirit  move  under  the  sway  of 
the  daring  speaker,  who  now  seemed  to  them  merely 
to  put  into  words  thoughts  long  suppressed  in  their 
own  hearts,  but  now  rising  into  active  consciousness. 
Yes,  they  had  been  fools :  they  would  free  them- 
selves, and  quaff  the  wine  of  life  before  the  Angel  of 
Death,  Azrael,  spilled  the  goblet.  Moshe  Grinwitz's 
melancholy  eyes  blazed  with  sympathetic  ardour. 

"  Hush,  miserable  blasphemer  !  "  faltered  the  great 
Rav  Rotchinsky,  who  alone  could  find  his  tongue. 
**The  guardian  of  Israel  neither  slumbereth  nor 
sleepeth."     The  hunchback  wheeled  round  and  cast 


358  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

a  chilling  glance  at  the  venerable  man.  Then,  smil- 
ing, "The  maidens  of  England  are  beautiful,"  he 
said.  "They  are  even  fairer  than  the  women  of 
Brody." 

The  great  Rav  turned  pale,  but  his  eyes  shone. 
He  struck  out  feebly  with  his  arms,  as  though  beat- 
ing back  some  tempting  vision. 

"  You  and  I  have  spoken  together  before,  Rabbi," 
said  the  hunchback.  "  We  shall  speak  again  —  about 
women,  wine,  and  other  things.  Your  beard  is  long 
and  white,  but  many  days  of  sunshine  are  still  before 
you,  and  the  darkness  of  the  grave  is  afar." 

The  rabbi  tried  to  mutter  a  prayer,  but  his  lips 
only  beat  tremulously  together. 

"  Profane  mocker,"  he  muttered  at  length,  "  go  to 
thy  work  and  thy  wine  and  thy  pleasure,  if  thou 
wouldst  desecrate  the  sacred  Sabbath-day  ;  but  tempt 
not  others  to  sin  with  thee.  Begone ;  and  may 
the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  blast  thee  with  His 
lightnings." 

"  The  Holy  One  blasteth  only  that  which  is  holy," 
grimly  rejoined  the  dwarfish  stranger,  exhibiting  the 
Scroll,  while  a  low  sound  of  applause  went  up  from 
the  audience.  "  Said  I  not,  ye  were  a  sport  and  a 
mockery  unto  Him  }  Ye  assemble  in  your  multitude 
for  prayer,  and  the  vapour  of  your  piety  but  prepares 
the  air  for  the  passage  of  His  arrows.  Ye  adorn 
His  Scroll  with  bells  and  chains,  and  the  gilded 
metal  but  draws  His  lightnings." 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  369 

He  looked  around  the  room  and  a  cat-like  gleam 
of  triumph  stole  into  his  wonderful  eyes  as  he  no5"ed 
the  effect  of  his  words.  He  paused,  and  again  for  a 
moment  the  tense,  awful  silence  reigned,  emphasized 
by  the  loud  but  decreasing  patter  of  the  rain.  This 
time  it  was  broken  in  a  strange,  unexpected  fashion. 

**  Yisgadal,  veyiskadash  shem^  rabbo,''  rang  out 
a  clear,  childish  voice  from  the  rear  of  the  syna- 
gogue. A  little  orphan  child,  who  had  come  to 
repeat  the  Kaddisk,  the  Hebrew  mourners'  un- 
questioning acknowledgment  of  the  Supreme  Good- 
ness, had  fallen  into  a  sleep,  overcome  by  the  heat, 
and  had  slept  all  through  the  storm.  Awakening 
now  amid  a  universal  silence,  the  poor  Httle  fellow 
instinctively  felt  that  the  congregation  was  wait- 
ing for  him  to  pronounce  the  prayer.  Alone  of 
the  male  worshippers  he  had  neither  seen  the 
blaspheming  hunchback  nor  listened  to  his  words. 

The  hunchback's  handsome  face  was  distorted 
with  a  scowl ;  he  stamped  his  broad  splay-foot, 
but  hearing  no  verbal  interruption,  the  child,  its 
eyes  piously  closed,  continued  its  prayer  — 

"/;/  the  world  which  He  hath  created  .  .  .  ." 

"The  rain  has  ceased,  brethren,"  huskily  whis- 
pered the  hunchback,  for  his  words  seemed  to  stick 
in  his  throat.  "  Come  outside  and  I  will  tell  you 
how  to  enjoy  this  world,  for  world-to-come  there 
is  none."  Not  a  figure  stirred.  The  child's  treble 
went  unfalteringly  on.     The  stranger  hurried   tow- 


360  SATAN  ME K A  TRIG 

ard  the  door.  Arrived  there,  he  looked  back. 
Mcshd  Grinwitz  alone  followed  him.  He  hurled 
tne  Scroll  at  the  child's  head,  but  the  lad  just 
then  took  the  three  backward  steps  which  accom- 
pany the  conclusion  of  the  prayer.  The  Scroll 
dashed  itself  against  the  wall ;  the  stranger  was 
gone  and  with  him  Moshe  Grinwitz.  A  great 
wave  of  trembling  passed  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  synagogue ;  the  men  drew  long 
breaths,  as  if  some  heavy  and  sulphurous  vapour 
had  been  dissipated  from  the  atmosphere ;  the 
child  lifted  up  with  difficulty  the  battered  Scroll, 
kissed  it  and  handed  it  to  his  neighbour,  who  de- 
posited it  reverently  in  the  Ark ;  a  dazzling  burst 
of  sunshine  flooded  the  room  from  above,  and 
transmuted  the  floating  dust  into  the  golden  shafts 
of  some  celestial  structure ;  the  Cantor  and  the 
congregation  continued  the  words  of  the  service 
at  the  point  interrupted,  as  though  all  the  strange 
episode  had  been  a  dream.  They  did  not  speak 
or  wonder  among  themselves  at  it ;  nor  did  the 
rabbi  allude  to  it  in  the  marvellous  exhortation 
that  succeeded  the  service,  save  at  its  close,  when 
he  reminded  them  that  on  the  morrow  they  must 
observe  a  solemn  fast.  But  ever  afterward  they 
shunned  Moshe  Grinwitz  as  a  leper ;  for  the  sight 
of  him  recalled  his  companion  in  blasphemy,  the 
atheist  and  socialist  propagandist,  who  had  in- 
sidiously   crept   into    their   midst,    after    perverting 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  361 

and  crazing  their  fellow  as  a  preliminary ;  and  the 
thought  of  the  strange  hunchback  set  their  blood 
tingling  and  their  brain  surging  with  wild  fancies 
and  audacious  thoughts.  The  tidings  of  their  mis- 
fortune induced  a  few  benevolent  men  to  join  in 
purchasing  a  new  Scroll  of  the  Law  for  them,  and 
before  the  Feast  of  Consecration  of  this  precious 
possession  was  well  over,  the  once  vivid  images 
of  that  stormy  and  disgraceful  scene  were  as 
shadows  in  the  minds  of  men  not  unaccustomed 
to  heated  synagogal  discussions,  and  not  altogether 
strangers  to  synagogal  affrays. 

"  She  will  do  him  good  and  not  evil  all  the  days  of  her  lifey 
—  Prov.  xxxi.  12. 

As  Moshe  Grinwitz  followed  his  new-found  friend 
down  the  narrow  windings  that  led  to  his  own  home, 
his  whole  being  surrendered  itself  to  the  new  de- 
licious freedom.  The  burst  of  sunshine  that  greeted 
him  almost  as  soon  as  he  crossed  the  threshold  of 
the  synagogue  seemed  to  him  to  typify  the  new 
life  that  was  to  be  his.  He  drew  up  his  gaunt  form 
to  his  full  height,  stiffened  his  curved  shoulders, 
bent  by  much  stooping  over  his  machine,  and  ad- 
justed his  high  hat  firmly  on  his  head.  It  was  not 
a  restful,  placid  feeling  that  now  possessed  him ; 
rather  a  busy  ferment  of  ideas,  a  stirring  of  nerve 
currents,  an  accumulation  of  energy  striving  to  dis- 
charge itself,  a  mercurial  flowing  of  the  blood.     The 


362  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

weight  of  old  life-long  conceptions,  nay,  the  burden 
of  old  learning,  of  which  his  store  had  been  vast, 
was  cast  off.  He  did  not  know  what  he  should  do 
with  the  new  life  that  tingled  in  his  veins ;  he  only- 
felt  alive  in  every  pore. 

"Ha!  brother!"  he  shouted  to  the  hunchback, 
who  was  hurrying  on  before.  "These  fools  in  the 
synagogue  would  do  better  to  come  out  and  enjoy 
the  fine  weather." 

"  They  breathe  the  musty  air  to  offer  it  up  as  a 
sweet  incense,"  responded  the  dwarf,  slackening  his 
steps  to  allow  his  companion  to  come  up  with  him. 

Their  short  walk  was  diversified  by  quite  a  number 
of  incidents.  A  driver  lashed  his  horse  so  savagely 
that  the  animal  bolted ;  two  children  walking  hand 
in  hand  suddenly  began  to  fight ;  a  foreign-looking, 
richly  dressed  gentleman,  half -drunk,  staggered  along. 
Moshe  felt  it  a  shame  that  one  wealthy  man  should 
wear  a  heavy  gold  chain,  which  would  support  a 
poor  family  for  a  month ;  but  ere  his  own  tempta- 
tion had  gathered  to  a  head,  the  poor  gentleman 
was  felled  by  a  sudden  blow,  and  a  respectably  clad 
figure  vanished  down  an  alley  with  the  coveted  spoil. 
Moshe  felt  glad,  and  made  no  attempt  to  assist  the 
victim,  and  his  attention  was  immediately  attracted 
by  some  boys,  who  commenced  to  tie  a  cracker  to 
a  cat's  tail.  Occupied  by  all  these  observations, 
Moshe  suddenly  noted  with  a  start  that  they  had 
reached   the   house   in   which   he   lived.      His   com- 


SA  TAN  MEKA  TRIG  363 

panion  had  already  entered  the  passage,  for  the 
door  was  always  ajar,  and  Moshe  had  the  impression 
that  it  was  very  kind  of  his  new  friend  to  accept 
his  invitation  to  visit  him.  He  felt  very  pleased, 
and  followed  him  into  the  passage,  but  no  sooner 
had  he  done  so  than  an  impalpable  cloud  of  distrust 
seemed  to  settle  upon  him.  The  house  was  a  tall, 
old-fashioned  and  grimy  structure,  which  had  been 
fine,  and  even  stately,  a  century  before,  but  which 
now  sheltered  a  dozen  families,  mainly  Jewish. 
Mosh^  Grinwitz's  one  room  was  situated  at  the  very 
top,  its  walls  forming  part  of  the  roof.  Every  flight 
of  stairs  Mosh6  went  up,  his  spirit  grew  darker  and 
darker,  as  if  absorbing  the  darkness  that  hung  around 
the  cobwebbed,  massive  balustrades,  upon  which  no 
direct  ray  of  sunlight  ever  fell ;  and  by  the  time  he 
had  reached  the  dusky  landing  outside  his  own  door 
the  vague  uneasiness  had  changed  into  a  horrible 
definite  conception.;  a  memory  had  come  back  upon 
him  which  set  his  heart  thumping  guiltily  and  anx- 
iously in  his  bosom.  His  wife !  His  pure,  virtuous, 
God-fearing  wife !  How  was  he  to  make  her  under- 
stand }  But  immediately  a  thought  came,  by  which 
the  burden  of  shame  and  anxiety  was  half  lifted. 
His  wife  was  not  at  home;  she  would  still  be  in  the 
Synagogue  of  Love  and  Mercy,  where,  mercifully 
blinded  by  the  curtain,  she,  perhaps,  was  still  igno- 
rant of  the  part  he  had  played.  He  turned  suddenly 
to  his  companion,  and  caught   the  vanishing  traces 


364  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

of  an  Ugly  scowl  wrinkling  the  high  white  forehead 
under  the  fur  cap.  The  hunchback's  hair  burnt 
Hke  fire  on  the  background  of  the  gloom;  his  eyes 
flashed  lightning. 

"  Probably  my  wife  is  in  the  synagogue,"  said 
Mosh^.  "  If  so,  she  has  the  key,  and  we  can't  get 
in." 

"The  key  matters  little,"  hissed  the  hunchback. 
"  But  you  must  first  tear  down  this  thing." 

Moshe's  eyes  followed  in  wonder  the  direction  of 
his  companion's  long,  white  forefinger,  and  rested  on 
the  Meziizaky  where,  in  a  tin  case,  the  holy  verses 
and  the  Name  hung  upon  the  door-post. 

"  Tear  it  down  .?  "  repeated  Moshe. 

*'  Tear  it  down  !  "  replied  the  hunchback.  "  Never 
will  I  enter  a  home  where  this  superstitious  gew-gaw 
is  allowed  to  decorate  the  door." 

Moshe  hesitated  ;  the  thought  of  what  his  wife 
would  say,  again  welled  up  strongly  within  him ;  all 
his  new  impious  daring  seemed  to  be  melting  away. 
But  a  mocking  glance  from  the  cruel  eyes  thrilled 
through  him.  He  put  his  hand  on  the  Meziizahy 
then  the  unbroken  habit  of  years  asserted  its  sway, 
and  he  removed  the  finger  which  had  lain  on  the 
Name  and  kissed  it.  Instantly  another  semi-trans- 
formation of  his  thoughts  took  place ;  he  longed  to 
take  the  hunchback  by  the  throat.  But  it  was  an 
impotent  longing,  for  when  a  low  hiss  of  intense 
scorn   and   wrath  was   breathed  from  the  clenched 


SATAN  ME  K AT  RIG  365 

lips  of  his  companion,  he  made  a  violent  tug  at  the 
firmly  fastened  Mezuzah,  It  was  half -loosed  from 
the  woodwork  when,  from  behind  the  door,  there 
issued  in  clear,  womanly  tones  the  solemn  Hebrew 
words :  — 

"  Blessed  is  the  man  that  walketh  not  in  the  council 
of  the  ungodly,  nor  standeth  in  the  zvay  of  sinners,  nor 
sitteth  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful ^ 

It  was  Rebecca  Grinwitz  commencing  the  Book  of 
Psalms,  which  she  read  through  every  Sabbath 
afternoon. 

A  violent  shudder  agitated  Mosh6  Grinwitz's 
frame ;  he  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  Mezuzah, 
struggled  with  himself  awhile,  then  kissed  his  finger 
again,  and,  turning  to  defy  the  scorn  of  his  com- 
panion, saw  that  he  had  slipped  noiselessly  down- 
stairs. A  sob  of  intense  relief  burst  from  Mosh^'s 
lips. 

"  Rivkoly,  Rivkoly !  "  he  cried  hysterically,  beating 
at  the  door;  and  in  another  moment  he  was  folded 
in  the  quiet  haven  of  his  wife's  arms. 

"Who  told  thee  it  was  1 1  "  said  Rebecca,  after  a 
moment  of  delicious  happiness  for  both.  **  I  told 
them  not  to  alarm  thee,  nor  to  spoil  thy  enjoyment 
of  the  sermon,  because  I  knew  thou  wouldst  be  un- 
easy and  be  wanting  to  leave  the  synagogue  if  thou 
knewest  I  had  fainted." 

"  No  one  told  me  thou  hadst  fainted ! "  Mosh6 
exclaimed,  instantly  forgetting  his  own  perturbation. 


see  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

"  And  yet  thou  didst  guess  it ! "  said  Rebecca,  a 
happy  Uttle  smile  dimphng  her  pale  cheek,  ''and 
came  away  after  me."  Then,  her  face  clouding, 
"The  Satan  Mekatrig  has  tempted  us  both  away 
from  synagogue,"  she  said,  "and  even  when  I  com- 
mence to  say  Tehillim  (Psalms)  at  home,  he  inter- 
rupts me  by  sending  me  my  darling  husband." 

Moshe  kissed  her  in  acknowledgment  of  the  com- 
plimentary termination  of  a  sentence  begun  with 
unquestionable  gloom.  "  But  what  made  my  Riv- 
koly  faint  .^"  he  asked,  glad,  on  reflection,  that  his 
wife's  misconception  obviated  the  necessity  of  ex- 
planations. "  They  ought  to  have  opened  the  win- 
dow at  the  back  of  the  women's  room." 

Rebecca  shuddered.  "  God  forbid  !  "  she  cried. 
"  It  wasn't  the  heat  —  it  was  that.''  Her  eyes  stared 
a  moment  at  some  unseen  vision. 

"What.?"  cried  Mosh6,  catching  the  contagion  of 
horror. 

"  He  would  have  come  in,"  she  said. 

"  Who  would  have  come  in  }  "  he  gasped. 

"The  Satan  Mekatrig,''  replied  his  wife.  "He 
was  outside,  and  he  glared  at  me  as  if  I  prevented 
his  coming  in." 

A  nervous  silence  followed.  Moshe's  heart  beat 
painfully.  Then  he  laughed  with  ghastly  merriment. 
"  Thou  didst  fall  asleep  from  the  heat,"  he  said,  "  and 
hadst  an  evil  dream." 

"No,  no,"  protested  his  wife  earnestly.     "As  sure 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  367 

as  I  stand  here,  no  !  I  was  looking  into  my  Chumosh 
(Pentateuch),  following  the  reading  of  the  Torah,  and 
all  at  once  I  felt  something  plucking  my  eyes  off  my 
book  and  turning  my  head  to  look  through  the  win- 
dow immediately  behind  me.  I  wondered  what 
Sata7i  Mekatrig  was  distracting  my  thoughts  from 
the  service.  For  a  long  time  I  resisted,  but  when 
the  reading  ceased  for  a  moment  the  temptation 
overcame  me  and  I  turned  and  saw  him." 

"How  looked  he.'*"  Mosh6  asked  in  a  whisper 
that  strove  in  vain  not  to  be  one. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  Rebecca  replied,  with  another 
shudder.  "A  little  crooked  demon  with  red  hair, 
and  a  fur  cap,  and  a  white  forehead,  and  baleful 
eyes,  and  a  cock's  talons  for  toes." 

Again  Mosh6  laughed,  a  strange,  hollow  laugh. 
"  Little  fool !  "  he  said,  "  I  know  the  man.  He  is 
only  a  brother-Jew  —  a  poor  cutter  or  cigar-maker 
who  laughs  at  Yiddishkeit  (Judaism),  because  he  has 
no  wife  like  mine  to  show  him  the  heavenly  light. 
Why,  didst  thou  not  see  him  afterward  t  But  no, 
thou  must  have  been  gone  by  the  time  he  came 
inside." 

"What  I  saw  was  no  man,"  returned  Rebecca, 
looking  at  him  sternly.  "  No  earthly  being  could 
have  stopped  my  heart  with  his  glances.  It  was  the 
Satan  Mekatrig  himself,  who  goeth  to  and  fro  on 
the  earth,  and  walketh  up  and  down  in  it.  I  must 
have  been  having  wicked  thoughts  indeed  this  Sab- 


868  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

bath,  thinking  of  my  new  dress,  for  my  Sabbath 
Angel  to  have  deserted  me,  and  to  let  the  Disturber 
and  the  Tempter  assail  me  unchecked."  The  poor, 
conscience-stricken  woman  burst  into  tears. 

"  My  Rivkoly  have  wicked  thoughts  !  "  said  Mosh^ 
incredulously,  as  he  smoothed  her  cheek.  "  If  my 
Rivkoly  puts  on  a  new  dress  in  honour  of  the  Sab- 
bath, is  not  the  dear  God  pleased }  Why,  where  is 
thy  new  dress  t  " 

"  I  have  changed  it  for  an  old  one,"  she  sobbed. 
"  I  do  not  want  to  see  the  demon  again." 

"  The  Satan  Mekatrig  has  no  real  existence,  I  tell 
thee,"  said  Moshe,  irritated.  "  He  only  means  our 
own  inward  thoughts,  that  distract  us  in  the  perform- 
ance of  the  precepts ;  our  own  inward  temptations  to 
go  astray  after  our  eyes  and  after  our  hearts." 

"  Moshe  !  "  Rebecca  exclaimed  in  a  shocked  tone, 
"  have  I  married  an  Epikouros  after  all  1  My  father, 
the  Rav,  peace  be  unto  him,  always  said  thou  hadst 
the  makings  of  one  —  that  thou  didst  ask  too  many 
questions." 

"  Well,  whether  there  is  a  Satan  or  not,"  retorted 
her  husband,  **  thou  couldst  not  have  seen  him ;  for 
the  person  thou  describest  is  the  man  I  tell  thee 
of." 

"And  thou  keepest  company  with  such  a  man," 
she  answered ;  **  a  man  who  scoffs  at  Yiddishkeit ! 
May  the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  forgive  thee! 
Now  I  know  why  we  have  no  children,  no  son  to  say 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  869 

Kaddish  after  us."  And  Rebecca  wept  bitterly  — 
for  the  children  she  did  not  possess. 

Their  common  cause  of  grief  coming  thus  unex- 
pectedly into  their  consciousness  softened  them 
toward  one  another  and  dispelled  the  gathering  irri- 
tation. Both  had  a  melancholy  vision  of  themselves 
stretched  out  stiff  and  stark  in  their  shrouds,  with  no 
filial  Kaddish  breaking  in  upon  and  gladdening  their 
ears.  O  if  their  souls  should  be  doomed  to  Purga- 
tory, with  no  son's  prayers  to  release  them !  Very 
soon  they  were  sitting  hand  in  hand,  reading  to- 
gether the  interrupted  Psalms. 

And  a  deep  peace  fell  upon  Moshe  Grinwitz.  So 
the  immortal  allegorist,  John  Bunyan,  must  have  felt 
when  the  mad  longing  to  utter  blasphemies  and  ob- 
scenities from  the  pulpit  was  stifled ;  and  when  he 
felt  his  soul  once  more  in  harmony  with  the  Spirit  of 
Good.  So  feel  all  men  who  have  wrestled  with  a 
Being  in  the  darkness  and  prevailed. 

They  were  a  curious  contrast  —  the  tall,  sallow, 
stooping,  black-bearded  man,  and  the  small,  keen- 
eyed,  plump,  pleasant-looking,  if  not  pretty  woman, 
in  her  dark  wig  and  striped  cotton  dress,  and  as 
they  sat,  steadily  going  through  the  whole  collection 
of  Psalms  to  a  strange,  melancholy  tune,  fraught  with 
a  haunting  and  indescribable  pathos,  the  shadows  of 
twilight  gathered  unnoticed  about  the  attic,  which 
was  their  all  in  all  of  home.  The  iron  bed,  the 
wooden  chairs,  the  gilt-framed  Mizrach  began  to  lose 


370  -  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

their  outlines  in  the  dimness.  The  Psalms  were  fin- 
ished at  last,  and  then  the  husband  and  wife  sat,  still 
hand  in  hand,  talking  of  their  plans  for  the  coming 
week.  For  once  neither  spoke  of  going  to  evening 
service  at  the  Synagogue  of  Love  and  Mercy,  and 
when  a  silver  ray  of  moonlight  lay  broad  across  the 
counterpane,  and  Rebecca  Grinwitz,  peering  into  the 
quiet  sky  that  overhung  the  turbid  alley,  announced 
that  three  stars  were  visible,  the  devout  couple  turned 
their  faces  to  the  east  and  sang  the  hymns  that  usher 
out  the  Sabbath. 

And  when  the  evening  prayer  was  over  Rebecca 
produced  from  the  cupboard  the  plainly  cut  goblet  of 
raisin  wine,  and  the  metal  wine-cup,  the  green 
twisted  waxlight,  and  the  spice-box,  wherewith  to 
perform  the  beautiful  symbolical  ceremony  of  the 
Havdalah,  welcoming  in  the  days  of  work,  the  six 
long  days  of  dreary  drudgery,  with  cheerful  resigna- 
tion to  the  will  of  the -Maker  of  all  things  —  of  the 
Sabbath  and  the  Day  of  Work,  the  Light  and  the 
Shadow,  the  Good  and  the  Evil,  blent  into  one  divine 
harmony  by  His  inscrutable  Wisdora  and  Love. 

Mosh6  filled  the  cup  with  raisin  wine,  and,  holding 
it  with  his  right  hand,  chanted  a  short  majestic 
Hebrew  poem,  whereof  the  burden  was  :  — 

**  Lo  !  God  is  my  salvation  ;  I  will  trust,  and  I  will 
not  be  afraid.  Be  with  us  light  and  joy,  gladness 
and  honour."  Then  blessing  the  King  of  the  Uni- 
verse, who  had  created  the  fruit  of   the  Vine,    he 


SA  TAN  MEKA  TRIG  371 

placed  the  cup  on  the  table  and  took  up  the  spices, 
uttering  a  blessing  over  them  as  he  did  so.  Then 
having  smelled  the  spice-box,  he  passed  it  on  to  his 
wife  and  spread  out  his  hands  toward  the  light  of 
the  spiral  wax  taper,  reciting  solemnly  :  "  Blessed  be 
Thou,  O  Lord,  our  God,  King  of  the  Universe,  who 
createst  the  Light  of  the  Fire."  And  then  looking 
down  at  the  Shade  made  by  his  bent  fingers,  he  took 
up  the  wine-cup  again,  and  chanted,  with  especial 
fervour,  and  with  a  renewed  sense  of  the  sanctities 
and  sweet  tranquillities  of  religion:  *' Blessed  be 
Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  King  of  the  Universe,  who 
makest  a  distinction  between  the  Holy  and  the  non- 
Holy,  between  Light  and  Darkness." 

'•^  As  for  that  nighty  let  darkness  seize  upon  it.'''*  — Job  iii.  6. 

It  was  Kol  Nidre  night,  the  commencement  of  the 
great  White  Fast,  the  Day  of  Atonement.  Through- 
out the  Jewish  quarter  there  was  an  air  of  subdued 
excitement.  The  synagogues  had  just  emptied  them- 
selves and  everywhere  men  and  women,  yet  under 
the  solemn  shadow  of  passionate  prayer,  were  meet- 
ing and  exchanging  the  wish  that  they  might  weather 
the  fast  safely.  The  night  was  dark  and  starless,  as 
if  Nature  partook  of  the  universal  mournfulness. 

Solitary,  thoug  h  amidst  a  crowd,  a  slight,  painfully 
thin  woman  shuffled  wearily  along,  her  feet  clad  in 
the  slippers  which  befitted  the   occasion,  her  head 


372  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

bent,  her  worn  cheek  furrowed  with  still-falUng  tears. 
They  were  not  the  last  dribblets  of  an  exhausted 
emotion,  not  the  meaningless,  watery  expression  of 
over-excited  sensibility.  They  were  real,  salt,  bitter 
tears  born  of  an  intense  sorrow.  The  long,  harassing 
service,  with  its  untiring  demands  upon  the  most  ex- 
alted and  the  most  poignant  emotions,  would  have 
been  a  blessing  if  it  had  dulled  her  capacity  for  an- 
guish. But  it  had  not.  Poor  Rebecca  Grinwitz  was 
still  thinking  of  her  husband. 

It  was  of  him  she  thought,  even  when  the  minis- 
ters, in  their  long  white  cerements,  were  pouring  forth 
their  souls  in  passionate  vocalization,  now  rising  to  a 
wail,  now  breaking  to  a  sob,  now  sinking  to  a  dread 
whisper ;  it  was  of  him  she  thought  when  the  weep- 
ing worshippers,  covered  from  head  to  foot  in  their 
praying-shawls,  rocked  to  and  fro  in  a  frenzy  of  grief, 
and  battered  the  gates  of  Heaven  with  fiery  lyrics; 
it  was  of  him  she  thought  when  she  beat  her  breast 
with  her  clenched  fist  as  she  made  the  confession  of 
sin  and  clamoured  for  forgiveness.  Sins  enough  she 
knew  she  had  —  but  his  sin  !     Ah  !  God,  his  sin  ! 

For  Moshe  had  gone  from  bad  to  worse.  He  re- 
fused to  reenter  the  synagogue  where  he  had  been  so 
roughly  handled.  His  speech  became  more  and 
more  profane.  He  said  no  more  prayers ;  wore  no 
more  phylacteries.  Her  peaceful  h  Dme-life  wrecked, 
her  reliance  on  her  husband  gone,  the  poor  wife  clung 
to  him,  still  hoping  on.     At  times  she  did  not  believe 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  373 

him  sane.  Gradually  rumours  of  his  mad  behaviour 
on  the  Sabbath  on  which  she  had  fainted  reached  her 
ears,  and  remembering  that  his  strangeness  had  be- 
gun from  the  Sunday  morning  following  that  delicious 
afternoon  of  common  Psalm-saying,  she  was  often  in- 
clined to  put  it  all  down  to  mental  aberration.  But 
then  his  talk —  so  clever,  if  so  blasphemous ;  bristling 
with  little  pointed  epigrams  and  maxims  such  as  she 
had  never  before  heard  from  him  or  any  one  else. 
He  was  full  of  new  ideas,  too,  on  politics  and  the  social 
system  and  other  unpractical  topics,  picturing  endless 
potentialities  of  wealth  and  happiness  for  the  labourer. 
Meantime  his  wages  had  fallen  by  a  third,  owing 
to  the  loss  of  his  former  place,  his  master  having  been 
the  president  of  the  Congregation  of  Love  and  Mercy. 
What  wonder,  therefore,  if  Mosh^  Grinwitz  intruded 
upon  all  his  wife's  thoughts  —  devotional  or  worldly } 
In  a  very  real  sense  he  had  become  her  Satan  Mekatrig. 
Up  till  to-night  she  had  gone  on  hoping.  For 
when  the  great  White  Fast  comes  round,  a  mighty 
wave  as  of  some  subtle  magnetism  passes  through  the 
world  of  Jews.  Men  and  women  who  have  not 
obeyed  one  precept  of  Judaism  for  a  whole  year  sud- 
denly awake  to  a  remembrance  of  the  faith  in  which 
they  were  born,  and  hasten  to  fast  and  pray,  and  abase 
themselves  before  the  Throne  of  Mercy.  The  long- 
drawn,  tremulous,  stirring  notes  of  the  trumpet  that 
ushers  in  the  New  Year,  seem  to  rally  and  gather  to- 
gether the  dispersed  of  Israel  from  every  region  of 


374  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

the  underworld  of  unfaith  and  to  mass  them  beneath 
the  cope  of  heaven.  And  to-night  surely  the  newly 
rooted  nightshade  of  doubt  would  wither  away  in  her 
husband's  bosom.  Surely  this  one  link  still  held  him  to 
the  religion  of  his  fathers ;  and  this  one  link  would 
redeem  him  and  yet  save  his  soul  from  the  everlast- 
ing tortures  of  the  damned.  But  this  last  hope  had 
been  doomed  to  disappointment.  Utterly  unmoved 
by  all  the  olden  sanctities  of  the  Days  of  Judgment 
that  initiate  the  New  Year,  the  miserable  man  showed 
no  signs  of  remorse  when  the  more  awful  terrors  of 
the  Day  of  Atonement  drew  near  —  the  last  day  of 
grace  for  the  sinner,  the  day  on  which  the  Divine 
Sentence  is  sealed  irrevocably.  And  so  the  wretched 
woman  had  gone  to  the  synagogue  alone. 

Reaching  home,  she  toiled  up  the  black  staircase 
and  turned  the  handle  of  the  door.  As  she  threw 
open  the  door  she  uttered  a  cry.  She  saw  nothing 
before  her  but  a  gigantic  shadow,  flickering  gro- 
tesquely on  the  sloping  walls  and  the  slip  of  ceiHng. 
It  must  be  her  own  shadow,  for  other  living  occupant 
of  the  room  she  could  see  none.  Where  was  her 
husband.?  Whither  had  he  gone.?  Why  had  he 
recklessly  left  the  door  unlocked  t 

She  looked  toward  the  table  gleaming  weirdly 
with  its  white  tablecloth ;  the  tall  wax  Yom  Kippur 
Candle,  specially  lit  on  the  eve  of  the  solemn  fast 
and  intended  to  burn  far  on  into  the  next  day,  had 
all  but  guttered  away,  and  the  flame  was  quivering 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  375 

unsteadily  under  the  influence  of  a  draught  coming 
from  the  carelessly  opened  window.  Rebecca  shiv- 
ered from  head  to  foot;  a  dread  presentiment  of 
evil  shook  her  soul.  For  years  the  Candle  had 
burnt  steadily,  and  her  life  also  had  been  steady 
and  undisturbed.  Alas !  it  needed  not  the  omen 
of  the    Yom  Kippur  Candle  to  presage  woe. 

"  May  the  dear  God  have  mercy  on  me !  "  she 
exclaimed,  bursting  into  fresh  tears.  Hardly  had 
she  uttered  the  words  when  a  monstrous  black  cat, 
with  baleful  green  eyes,  dashed  from  under  the  table, 
sprang  upon  the  window-sill,  and  disappeared  into 
the  darkness,  uttering  a  melancholy  howl.  Almost 
frantic  with  terror,  the  poor  woman  dragged  her- 
self to  the  window  and  closed  it  with  a  bang,  but 
ere  the  sash  had  touched  the  sill,  something  narrow 
and  white  had  flashed  from  the  room  through  the 
gap,  and  the  reverberations  made  in  the  silent  garret 
by  the  shock  of  the  violently  closed  window  were 
prolonged  in  mocking  laughter. 

"  Well  thrown,  Rav  Moshd  !  "  said  a  grating  voice. 
"  Now  that  you  have  at  last  conquered  your  rever- 
ence for  a  bit  of  tin  and  a  morsel  of  parchment,  I 
will  honour  your  mansion  with  my  presence." 

Instantly  Rebecca  felt  a  wild  longing  to  join  in 
the  merriment  and  to  laugh  away  her  fears ;  but, 
muttering  a  potent  talismanic  verse,  she  turned  and 
faced  her  husband  and  his  guest.  Instinct  had 
not  deceived  her  —  the  new-comer  was  the  hunch- 


376  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

back  of  that  fatal  Sabbath.  This  time  she  did  not 
faint. 

"  A  strange  hour  and  occasion  to  bring  a  visitor, 
Mosh6,"  she  said  sternly,  her  face  growing  even 
more  rigid  and  white  as  she  caught  the  nicotian  and 
alcoholic  reek  of  the  two  men's  breaths. 

"Your  good  Frau  is  not  over-polite,"  said  the 
visitor.  "  But  it's  Yom  Kippur,  and  so  I  suppose 
she  feels  she  must  tell  the  truth." 

"I  brought  him,  Rivkoly,  to  convince  thee  what 
a  fool  thou  wast  to  assert  that  thou  hadst  seen  — 
but  /  mustn't  be  impolite,"  he  broke  off,  with  a 
coarse  laugh.  "There's  no  call  for  me  to  tell  the 
truth  because  it's  Yom  Kippiir.  Down  at  the  Club 
we  celebrated  the  occasion  by  something  better  than 
truth  —  a  jolly  spread!  And  our  good  friend  here 
actually  stood  a  bottle  of  champagne!  Cham- 
pagne, Rivkoly !  Think  of  it !  Real,  live  cham- 
pagne, like  that  which  fizzes  and  sparkles  on  the 
table  of  the  Lord  Mayor.  Oh,  he's  a  jolly  good 
fellow !  and  so  said  all  of  us,  too.  And  yet  thou 
say  est  he  isn't  a  fellow  at  all." 

A  drunken  leer  overspread  his  sallow  face,  and 
was  rendered  more  ghastly  by  the  flame  leaping  up 
from  the  expiring  candle. 

"  Roshak,  sinner !  "  thundered  the  woman.  Then 
looking  straight  into  the  cruel  eyes  of  the  hunchback, 
her  wan  face  shining  with  the  stress  of  a  great  emo- 
tion, her  meagre  form  convulsed  with  fury,  "  Avaunt, 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  377 

Satan  Mekatrig  !  "  she  screamed.  "  Get  thee  down 
from  my  house  —  get  thee  down.  In  God's  name, 
get  thee  down  —  to  hell." 

Even  the  brazen-faced  hunchback  trembled  before 
her  passion ;  but  he  grasped  his  friend's  hot  hand  in 
his  long,  nervous  fingers,  and  seemed  to  draw  cour- 
age from  the  contact. 

"  If  I  go,  I  take  your  husband  ! "  he  hissed,  his 
great  eyes  blazing  in  turn.  "  He  will  leave  me  no 
more.     Send  me  away,  if  you  will." 

"Yes,  thou  must  not  send  my  friend  away  like 
this,"  hiccoughed  Moshe  Grinwitz.  "  Come,  make 
him  welcome,  like  the  good  wife  thou  wast  wont 
to  be." 

Rebecca  uttered  a  terrible  cry,  and,  cowering 
down  on  the  ground,  rocked  herself  to  and  fro. 

The  drunkard  appeared  moved.  *'Get  up,  Riv- 
koly,"  he  said,  with  a  tremour  in  his  tones.  "To 
see  thee  one  would  think  thou  wast  sitting  SJiivah 
over  my  corpse."  He  put  out  his  hand  as  if  to 
raise  her  up. 

"Back!"  she  screamed,  writhing  from  his  grasp. 
"  Touch  me  not ;  no  longer  am  I  wife  of  thine." 

"  Hear  you  that,  man .? "  said  the  hunchback 
eagerly.  "You  are  free.  I  am  here  as  a  witness. 
Think  of  it ;  you  are  free." 

"Yes,  I  am  free,"  repeated  Mosh^,  with  a  horrible, 
joyous  exultation  on  his  sickly  visage.  The  gigantic 
shadow  of  himself  that  bent  over  him,  cast  by  the 


378  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

dying  flame  of  the  Yom  Kippiir  Candle,  seemed  to 
dance  in  grim  triumph,  his  long  side-curls  dangling 
in  the  spectral  image  like  barbaric  ornaments  in  the 
ears  of  a  savage,  while  the  unshapely,  fantastic 
shadow  of  the  hunchback  seemed  to  nod  its  head 
in  applause.  Then,  as  the  flame  leaped  up  in  an 
irregular  jet,  the  distorted  shadow  of  the  Tempter 
intertwined  itself  in  a  ghastly  embrace  with  her  own. 
With  frozen  blood  and  stifled  breath  the  tortured 
woman  turned  away,  and,  as  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
many-cracked  looking-glass  which  adorned  the  man- 
telpiece, she  saw,  or  her  overwrought  fancy  seemed 
to  see  —  her  husband's  dead  face,  wreathed  with  a 
slavering  serpent  in  the  place  of  the  phylacteries 
he  had  ceased  to  wear,  and  surrounded  by  endless 
perspectives  of  mocking  marble-browed  visages,  with 
fiery  snakes  for  hair  and  live  coals  for  eyes. 

She  felt  her  senses  slipping  away  from  her  grasp, 
but  she  struggled  wildly  against  the  heavy  vapour  that 
seemed  to  choke  her.  ''  Moshe !  "  she  shrieked,  in  mad, 
involuntary  appeal  for  help,  as  she  clutched  the  mantel 
and  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  hideous  vision. 

"  I  am  no  longer  thy  husband,"  tauntingly  replied 
the  man.     "  I  may  not  touch  thee." 

"Hear  you  that,  woman.?"  came  the  sardonic  voice 
of  the  hunchback.  "  You  are  free.  I  am  here  as  a 
witness." 

"  I  am  here  as  a  witness,"  a  thousand  mocking 
voices  seemed  to  hiss  in  echoed  sibilance. 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  379 

A  terrible  silence  followed.  At  last  she  turned  her 
white  shrunken  face,  which  the  contrast  of  the  jet- 
black  wig  rendered  weird  and  death-like,  toward  the 
man  who  had  been  her  husband,  and  looked  long  and 
slowly,  yearningly  yet  reproachfully,  into  his  blood- 
shot eyes. 

Again  a  great  wave  of  agitation  shook  the  man 
from  head  to  foot. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Rivkoly,"  he  almost 
screamed.  "  I  won't  have  it.  I  won't  see  thee. 
Curse  that  candle  !  Why  does  it  flicker  on  eternally 
and  not  blot  thee  from  my  sight.?"  He  puffed 
violently  at  the  tenacious  flame  and  a  pall  fell  over 
the  room.  But  the  next  instant  the  light  leaped  up 
higher  than  ever. 

"Mosh6!"  Rebecca  shrieked  in  wild  dismay. 
*'  Dost  thou  forget  it  is  Kol  Nidr^  night }  How  canst 
thou  dare  to  blow  out  a  Hght  t  Besides,  it  is  the  Yoin 
KippJir  Candle  —  it  is  our  life  and  happiness  for  the 
New  Year.  If  you  blow  it  out,  I  swear,  by  my  soul 
and  the  great  Name,  that  you  shall  never  look  upon 
my  face  again." 

"  It  is  because  I  do  not  wish  to  see  thy  face  that 
I  will  blow  it  out,"  he  replied,  laughing  hysterically. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  pleaded.  "  I  will  go  away  rather. 
It  is  nearly  dead  of  itself ;  let  it  die." 

"  No  !  It  takes  too  long  dying ;  'tis  like  thy  father, 
the  Rav,  who  had  the  corpse-watchers  so  long  in 
attendance  that  one  died  himself,"  said  Moshe  Grin- 


380  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

witz  with  horrible  laughter.  "  I  will  kill  it !  "  And 
bending  down  low  over  the  broad  socket  of  the 
candlestick,  so  that  his  head  loomed  gigantic  on  the 
ceiling,  he  silenced  forever  the  restless  tongue  of 
fire. 

Immediately  a  thick  blackness,  as  of  the  grave, 
settled  upon  the  chamber.  Hollow  echoes  of  the 
blasphemer's  laughter  rang  and  resounded  on  every 
side.  Myriads  of  dreadful  faces  shaped  themselves 
out  of  the  gloom,  and  mowed  and  gibbered  at  the 
woman.  At  the  window,  the  green,  baleful  eyes  of 
the  black  cat  glared  with  phosphorescent  light.  A 
wreath  of  fiery  serpents  twisted  themselves  in  fiendish 
contortions,  shedding  lurid  radiance  upon  the  cruel 
marble  brow  they  garlanded.  An  unspeakable  Eeri- 
ness,  an  unnameable  Unholiness,  floated  with  far- 
sweeping,  rustling  pinions  through  the  Darkness. 

With  stifling  throat  that  strove  in  vain  to  shriek, 
the  woman  dashed  out  through  the  well-known  door, 
fled  wildly  down  the  stairs,  pursued  at  every  step  by 
the  sardonic  merriment,  met  at  every  corner  by  the 
gibbering  shapes  —  fled  on,  dashing  through  the 
heavy,  ever-open  street  door  into  the  fresher  air  of 
the  night  —  on,  instinctively  on,  through  the  almost 
deserted  streets  and  alleys,  where  only  the  vile  gin- 
houses  gleamed  with  life  —  on,  without  pause  or  rest, 
till  she  fell  exhausted  upon  the  dusty  door-step  of  the 
Synagogue  of  Love  and  Mercy. 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  381 

"  All  Israel  have  a  portion  in  the  world  to  come.''''  —  Ethics  of 
the  Fathers. 

The  aged  keeper  of  the  synagogue  rushed  out  at 
the  noise. 

*'  Save  me !  For  God's  sake,  save  me,  Reb  Yitz- 
chok!  "cried  the  fallen  figure.  "Save  me  from  the 
Satan  Mekatrig  !  I  have  no  home  —  no  husband  — 
any  more  !     Take  me  in  !  " 

"  Take  you  in  .?  "  said  Reb  Yitzchok  pityingly,  for 
he  dimly  guessed  something  of  her  story.  "  Where 
can  I  take  you  in }  You  know  my  wife  and  I  are 
allowed  but  one  tiny  room  here." 

"  Take  me  in  !  "  repeated  the  woman.  "  I  will  pass 
the  night  in  the  synagogue.  I  must  pray  for  my 
husband's  soul,  for  he  has  no  son  to  pray  for  him. 
Let  me  come  in !  Save  me  from  the  Satan  Meka- 
trig!'' 

"  You  would  certainly  meet  many  a  Satan  Mekatrig 
in  the  streets  during  the  night,"  said  the  old  man 
musingly.     "  But  have  you  no  friends  to  go  to  .'' " 

**  None  —  none  —  but  God !  Let  me  in  that  I  may 
go  to  Him.  Give  me  shelter,  and  He  will  have  mercy 
on  you  when  the  great  Tekiah  sounds  to-morrow 
night ! " 

Without  another  word  Reb  Yitzchok  went  into  his 
room,  returned  with  the  key,  and  threw  open  the 
door  of  the  women's  synagogue,  revealing  a  dazzling 
flood  of  light  from  the  numerous  candles,  big  and 
little,  which  had  been  left  burning  in  their  sconces. 


382  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

The  low  curtain  that  served  as  a  partition  had  been 
half  rolled  back  by  devoted  husbands  who  had  come 
to  inquire  after  their  wives  at  the  end  of  the  service, 
and  the  synagogue  looked  unusually  large  and  bright, 
though  it  was  hot  and  close,  with  lingering  odours 
of  breaths,  and  snuff,  and  tallow,  and  smelling-salts. 

With  a  sob  of  infinite  thankfulness  Rebecca 
dropped  upon  a  wooden  bench. 

"  Would  you  like  a  blanket  ? "  said  the  old  man. 

**  No,  no,  God  bless  you !  "  she  replied.  "  I  must 
watch  and  weep,  not  sleep.  For  the  Scroll  of  Judg- 
ment is  written  and  the  Book  of  Life  is  all  but 
closed." 

With  a  pitying  sigh  the  old  man  turned  and  left 
her  alone  for  the  night  in  the  Synagogue  of  Love 
and  Mercy. 

For  a  few  moments  Rebecca  sat,  prayerless,  her 
soul  full  of  a  strange  peace.  Then  she  found  her- 
self counting  the  chimes  as  they  rolled  out  sono- 
rously from  a  neighbouring  steeple :  One,  Two, 
Three,  Four,  Five,  Six,  Seven,  Eight,  Nine,  Ten, 
Eleven,  Twelve  ! 

****** 

Starting  up  suddenly  when  the  last  stroke  ceased 
to  vibrate  on  the  air,  Rebecca  Grinwitz  found,  to 
her  surprise,  that  a  merciful  sleep  must  have  over- 
taken her  eyelids,  that  hours  must  have  passed 
since  midnight  had  struck,  and  that  the  great  Day 
of  Atonement   must   have  dawned.     Both  compart- 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  383 

ments  of  the  synagogue  were  full  of  the  restless 
stir  of  a  praying  multitude.  With  a  sense  of  some- 
thing vaguely  strange,  she  bent  her  eyes  downward 
on  her  neighbour's  Machzor.  The  woman  imme- 
diately pushed  the  prayer-book  more  toward  Re- 
becca, with  a  wonderful  smile  of  love  and  tenderness, 
which  seemed  to  go  right  through  Rebecca's  heart, 
though  she  could  not  clearly  remember  ever  having 
seen  her  neighbour  before.  Nor,  wonderingly  steal- 
ing a  first  glance  around,  could  she  help  feeling  that 
the  entire  congregation  was  somewhat  strange  and 
unfamiliar,  though  she  could  not  quite  think  why  or 
how.  The  male  worshippers,  too,  why  did  they  all 
wear  the  shroud-like  garments,  usually  confined  on 
this  solemn  occasion  to  the  ministers  and  a  few  extra- 
devout  personages  t  And  had  not  some  transforma- 
tion come  over  the  synagogue.?  Was  it  only  the 
haze  before  her  tear-worn  eyes  or  did  dim  perspec- 
tives of  worshippers  stretch  away  boundlessly  on  all 
sides  of  the  clearly  seen  area,  which  still  retained  the 
form  of  the  room  she  knew  so  well } 

But  the  curious  undercurrent  of  undefined  wonder 
lasted  but  a  moment.  In  another  instant  she  was 
reconciled  to  the  scene.  All  was  familiar  and  ex- 
pected;  once  more  she  was  taking  part  in  divine 
service  with  no  sorrowful  thoughts  of  her  husband 
coming  to  distract  her,  her  whole  soul  bathing  in  and 
absorbing  the  Peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing.   Then  suddenly  she  felt  a  stir  of  recollection 


384  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

coming  over  her,  and  a  stream  of  love  warming  her 
heart,  and  looking  up  at  her  neighbour's  face  she  saw 
with  joyous  content  that  it  was  that  of  her  mother. 

The  service  went  on,  mother  and  daughter  follow- 
ing it  in  the  book  they  had  in  common.  After  sev- 
eral hours,  during  which  the  huge,  far-spreading 
congregation  alternated  with  the  Cantor  in  intoning 
the  beautiful  poems  of  the  liturgy  of  the  day,  the 
white  curtain  with  its  mystic  cabalistic  insignia  was 
rolled  back  from  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant  and  two 
Scrolls  were  withdrawn  therefrom.  Rebecca  noted 
with  joy  that  the  Ark  was  filled  with  Scrolls  big  and 
little,  in  rich  mantles,  and  that  those  taken  out  were 
swathed  in  satin  beautifully  embroidered,  and  that 
the  ornaments  and  the  musically  tinkling  bells  were 
of  pure  gold. 

Then  some  of  the  worshippers  were  called  up  in 
turn  to  the  Al  Memor  to  be  present  at  the  reading  of 
a  section  of  the  Law.  They  were  all  well  known  to 
Rebecca.  First  came  Moses  ben  Amram.  He 
walked  humbly  up  to  the  Al  Memor  with  bowed 
head,  his  long  Talith  enveloping  him  from  crown  to 
foot.  Rebecca  saw  his  face  well,  for  though  it  was 
covered  with  a  thick  veil,  it  shone  luminously  through 
its  draping. 

"  Bless  ye  the  Lord,  who  is  blessed,"  said  Moses 
ben  Amram,  the  words  seeming  all  the  sweeter  from 
his  lips  for  the  slight  stammering  with  which  they 
were  uttered. 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  886 

**  Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  is  blessed  to  all  eternity 
and  beyond,"  responded  the  endless  congregation,  in 
a  low  murmur  that  seemed  to  be  taken  up  and 
vibrated  away  and  away  into  the  infinite  distances 
for  ever  and  ever. 

"  Blessed  be  the  Lord,  who  is  blessed  to  all  eternity 
and  beyond,"  echoed  the  melodious  voice.  Then,  in 
words  that  seemed  to  roll  and  fill  the  great  gulfs  of 
space  with  a  choral  music  of  sacred  joy,  Moses  con- 
tinued, "Blessed  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  our  God,  the 
King  of  the  Universe,  who  hath  chosen  us  from  all 
peoples,  and  given  unto  us  His  Law.  Blessed  art 
Thou,  O  Lord,  who  givest  the  Law." 

After  him  came  Aaron  ben  Amram,  whose  white 
beard  reached  to  his  knees.  Abraham  ben  Terah, 
Isaac  ben  Abraham,  and  Jacob  ben  Isaac  —  all  ven- 
erable figures,  with  faces  which  Rebecca  felt  were 
radiant  with  infinite  tenderness  and  compassion  for 
such  poor  helpless  children  as  herself  —  were  also 
called  up,  and  after  the  Patriarchs,  Elijah  the  Prophet. 
Lastly  came  a  white-haired,  stooping  figure,  whose 
gait  and  whose  every  gesture  told  Rebecca  that  it 
was  her  father.  How  glad  she  felt  to  see  him  thus 
honoured !  As  she  listened  to  his  quavering  tones 
the  dusty  tombstones  of  dead  years  seemed  rolled 
away,  and  all  their  simple  joys  and  griefs  to  live 
again,  not  quite  as  of  yore,  but  transfigured  by  some 
solemn  pathos. 

When  the  reading  of   the   Law   was   at   an   end, 


386  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

David  ben  Jesse,  a  royal-looking  graybeard,  held  up 
the  Scroll  to  the  four  corners  of  space,  and  it  was 
rolled  up  by  his  son  Solomon,  the  Preacher ;  the 
carrying  of  it  to  the  Ark  being  given  to  Rabbi  Akiba, 
whose  features  wore  a  strange,  ecstatic  look,  as 
though  ennobled  by  suffering.  The  vast  multitude 
rose  with  a  great  rustling,  the  sound  whereof  reached 
afar,  and  sang  a  hymn  of  rejoicing,  so  that  the  whole 
universe  was  filled  with  melody.  Rebecca  alone 
could  not  sing.  For  the  first  time  she  missed  her 
husband,  Moshe.  Why  was  he  not  here,  Hke  all  the 
other  friends  of  her  life,  whose  beloved  faces  sur- 
rounded her  on  every  side  and  made  a  sweet  atmos- 
phere of  security  for  her  soul  t  What  was  he  doing 
outside  of  this  mighty  assembly  }  Why  was  he  not 
there  to  have  the  sacred  duty  of  carrying  the  Scroll 
entrusted  to  him  }  She  felt  the  tears  pouring  down 
her  cheeks.  She  was  ready  to  sink  to  the  earth  with 
sudden  lassitude.  "  Mother  !  dear  mother  !  "  she 
cried,  "  I  feel  so  faint." 

"You  must  have  some  air,  my  child,  my  Rivkoly," 
said  the  mother,  the  dearly  remembered  voice  falling 
for  the  first  time  with  ineffable  sweetness  on  Re- 
becca's ears.  And  she  put  out  her  hand,  and  lo  !  it 
grew  longer  and  longer,  till  it  reached  up  to  the  sky- 
light, and  then  suddenly  the  whole  roof  vanished  and 
the  free  air  of  heaven  blew  in  like  celestial  balm  upon 
Rebecca's  hot  forehead.  Yet  she  noted  with  wonder 
that  the  holy  candles  burnt  on  steadily,  unfluttered 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  387 

by  the  refreshing  breeze.  And  then,  lo  !  the  starless 
heavens  above  her  opened  out  in  indescribable  Glory. 
The  Dark  budded  into  ineffable  Beauty;  a  supernally 
pure,  luminous  Splendour,  transcendently  dazzling, 
filled  the  infinite  depths  of  the  Firmament  with  melo- 
dious coruscations  of  Infinite  Love  made  visible,  and 
white-winged  hosts  of  radiant  Cherubim  sang  "  Holy, 
holy,  holy  is  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  whole  earth  is 
full  of  His  Glory."  And  all  the  vast  congregation 
fell  upon  their  faces  and  cried  **  Holy,  holy,  holy  is 
the  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  whole  earth  is  full  of  His 
Glory."  And  Moses  ben  Amram  arose,  and  he 
lifted  his  hands  toward  the  Splendour  and  he  cried, 
"  Lord,  Lord  God,  merciful  and  gracious,  long-suffer- 
ing and  full  of  kindness  and  truth.  Lo,  Thou  sealest 
the  seals  before  the  twilight.  Seal  Thy  People,  I 
pray  Thee,  in  the  Book  of  Life,  though  Thou  blot 
me  out.  Forgive  them,  and  pardon  their  transgres- 
sions for  the  sake  of  the  merits  of  the  Patriarchs  and 
for  the  sake  of  the  merits  of  the  Martyrs,  who  have 
shed  their  blood  like  water  and  offered  their  flesh  to 
the  flames  for  the  Sanctification  of  the  Name.  For- 
give them,  and  blot  out  their  transgressions." 
And  all  the  congregation  said  "  Amen." 
Then  a  surging  wave  of  hope  rose  within  Rebecca's 
breast,  and  it  lifted  her  to  her  feet  and  stretched  out 
her  arms  toward  the  Splendour.  And  she  said  : 
"  Lord  God,  forgive  Thou  my  husband,  for  he  is  in 
the  hand  of  the  Tempter.     Save  him  from  the  power 


388  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

of  the  Evil  One  by  Thine  outstretched  arm  and  Thy 
mighty  hand.  Save  him  and  pardon  him,  Lord,  in 
Thine  infinite  mercy."  Then  a  strange,  dread,  anx- 
ious silence  fell  upon  the  vast  spaces  of  the  Firma- 
ment, till  from  the  heart  of  the  Celestial  Splendour 
there  fell  a  Word  that  floated  through  the  Universe 
like  the  sweet  blended  strains  of  all  sweet  instru- 
ments, a  Word  that  mingled  all  the  harmonies  of 
winds  and  waters  and  mortal  and  angelic  voices  into 
one  divine  cadence  —  Salachti. 

And  with  the  sweet  Word  of  Forgiveness  linger- 
ing musically  in  her  charmed  ears,  and  the  sweet 
assurance  at  her  heart  that  she,  the  poor,  miserable 
tailor's  wife,  despised  and  trodden  under  foot  by  the 
rich  and  by  the  heathen  around,  could  lean  upon  the 
breast  of  an  Almighty  Father,  who  had  prepared  for 
her  immortal  glories  and  raptures  amid  all  her  loved 
ones  in  a  world  where  He  would  wipe  the  tears  from 
off  all  eyes,  Rebecca  Grinwitz  awoke  to  find  the 
bright  morning  sunshine  streaming  in  upon  her  and 
the  fresh  morning  air  blowing  in  upon  her  fevered 
brow  from  the  skylight  which  Reb  Yitzchok  had  just 
opened. 

"  Surely  He  shall  deliver  thee  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler P 
—  Psahn  xci.  3. 

A  shroud  of  newly  fallen  snow  enveloped  the  dead 
earth,  over  which  the  dull,  murky  sky  looked  drearily 
down.     Within  his  fireless  garret,  which  was  almost 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  389 

empty  of  furniture,  Moshe  Grinwitz  lay,  wasted  away 
to  a  shadow.  His  beard  was  unkempt,  his  cheek- 
bones were  ahnost  fleshless,  his  feverish  eyes  large 
and  staring,  his  side-curls  tangled  and  untended. 
There  did  not  seem  enough  strength  left  in  the 
frame  to  resist  a  babe ;  yet,  when  he  coughed,  the 
whole  skeleton  was  agitated  as  though  with  galvanic 
energy. 

"  Will  he  never  come  back .'' "  he  murmured  un- 
easily. 

"  Fear  not ;  so  far  as  lies  in  my  power,  I  shall  be 
with  you  always,"  replied  the  voice  of  the  hunchback 
as  he  entered  the  room.  "  But,  alas !  I  have  little 
comfort  to  bring  you.  One  pawnbroker  after  an- 
other refused  to  advance  anything  on  my  waistcoat, 
and  at  last  I  sold  it  right  out  for  a  few  pence.  See ; 
here  is  some  milk.     It  is  warm." 

Mosh^  tried  to  clutch  the  jug,  but  fell  back,  help- 
less. A  shade  of  anxiety  passed  over  his  compan- 
ion's face.  "  Have  I  miscalculated  t  "  he  muttered. 
He  held  the  jug  to  the  sick  man's  lips,  supporting 
his  head  with  the  other.  Moshe  drank,  then  fell 
back,  and  pressed  his  friend's  hand  gratefully. 

**Poor  Mosh^,"  said  the  hunchback.  "What  a 
shame  I  tossed  into  the  gutter  the  gold  my  father  left 
me  seven  months  ago !  How  could  I  foresee  you 
would  be  struck  down  with  this  long  sickness  .'* " 

"  No,  no,  don't  regret  it,"  quavered  Mosh6,  his  white 
face  lighting  up.    "We  had  jolly  old  times,  jolly  old 


390  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

times,  while  the  money  lasted.  Oh,  you've  been  a 
good  friend  to  me  —  a  good  friend.  If  I  had  never 
known  you,  I  should  have  passed  away  into  nothing- 
ness, without  ever  having  known  the  mad  joys  of  wine 
and  riot.  I  have  had  wild,  voluptuous  moments  of  rev- 
elry and  mirth.  No  power  in  heaven  or  hell  can  take 
away  the  past.  And  then  the  sweet  freedom  of  doing 
as  you  will,  thinking  as  you  will,  flying  with  wings  un- 
clogged  by  superstition  —  to  you  I  owe  it  all !  And 
since  I  have  been  ill  you  have  watched  over  me  like 

—  like  a  woman." 

His  words  died  away  in  a  sob,  and  then  there  was 
silence,  except  when  his  cough  sounded  strange  and 
hollow  in  the  bare  room.     Presently  he  went  on : — 

"  How  unjust  Rivkoly  was  to  you  !    She  once  said  " 

—  here  the  speaker  laughed  a  little  melancholy 
laugh  —  "  that  you  were  the  Satan  Mekatrig  in 
person." 

"Poor  afflicted  woman!  "  said  his  friend,  with  pitying 
scorn.  "  In  this  nineteenth  century,  when  among 
the  wise  the  belief  in  the  gods  has  died  out,  there 
are  yet  fools  alive  who  believe  in  the  devil.  But  she 
could  only  have  meant  it  metaphorically." 

The  sick  man  shook  his  head.  "  She  said  the  evil 
influence  —  of  course,  it  seemed  evil  to  her  —  you 
wielded  over  her  thoughts,  and  I  suppose  mine,  too, 
was  more  than  human  —  was  supernatural." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  I'm  not  more  strong-minded  than 
most  people.     Of  course  I  am,  or  I  should  be  howl- 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  .391 

ing  hymns  at  the  present  moment.  But  why  does  a 
soldier  catch  fire  under  the  eye  of  his  captain  ? 
What  magnetism  enables  one  man  to  bewitch  a  na- 
tion ?  Why  does  one  friend's  unspoken  thought  find 
unuttered  echo  in  another's  ?  Go  to  Science,  study 
Mesmerism,  Hypnotism,  Thought-Transference,  and 
you  will  learn  all  about  Me  and  my  influence." 

*'  Yes,  Rivkoly  never  had  any  idea  of  anything  out- 
side her  prayer-book.     Rivkoly  —  " 

"Mention  not  her  name  to  me,"  interrupted  the 
hunchback  harshly.  "A  woman  who  deserts  her 
husband  —  "  ^'^ 

"  She  swore  to  go  if  I  blew  out  the  Yom  Kippur 
light.     And  I  did." 

"A  woman  who  goes  out  of  her  wits  because  her 
husband  gets  into  his  !  "  sneered  the  other.  "  Doubt- 
less her  superstitious  fancy  conjured  up  all  sorts  of 
sights  in  the  dark.  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  "  and  he  laughed  a 
ghastly  laugh.  "  Happily  she  will  never  come  back. 
She's  evidently  able  to  get  along  without  you.  Prob- 
ably she  has  another  husband  more  to  her  pious  taste." 

Mosh6  raised  himself  convulsively.  "  Don't  say 
that  again  !  "  he  screamed.  ''My  Rivkoly  !  "  Then  a 
violent  cough  shook  him  and  his  white  lips  were  red- 
dened with  blood. 

The  cold  eyes  of  the  hunchback  glittered  strangely 
as  he  saw  the  blood.  "At  any  rate,"  he  said,  more 
gently,  "she  cannot  break  the  mighty  oath  she  sware. 
She  will  never  come  back." 


392  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

"  No,  she  will  never  come  back,"  the  sick  man 
groaned  hopelessly.  '*  But  it  was  cruel  of  me  to  drive 
her  away.     Would  to  G —  " 

The  hunchback  hastily  put  his  hand  on  the  speak- 
er's mouth,  and  tenderly  wiped  away  the  blood. 
"  When  I  am  better,"  said  Moshe,  with  sudden  resolu- 
tion, "  I  will  seek  her  out :  perhaps  she  is  starving." 

"  As  you  will.  You  know  she  can  always  earn  her 
bread  and  water  at  the  cap-making.  But  you  are  your 
own  master.  When  you  are  rid  of  this  sickness  — 
which  will  be  soon  —  you  shall  go  and  seek  her  out 
and  bring  her  to  abide  with  you."  The  words  rang 
sardonically  through  the  chamber. 

"  How  good  you  are !  "  Moshe  murmured,  as  he 
sank  back  relieved. 

The  hunchback  leaned  over  the  bed  till  his  gigan- 
tic brow  almost  touched  the  sick  man's,  till  his  won- 
derful eyes  lay  almost  on  his.  "And  yet  you  will  not 
let  me  hasten  on  your  recovery  in  the  way  I  pro- 
posed to  you." 

"  No,  no,"  Mosh^  said,  trembling  all  over.  "  What 
matters  if  I  lie  here  a  week  more  or  less .''  " 

"  Lie  here  !  "  hissed  his  friend.  "  In  a  week  you 
will  lie  rotting." 

A  wild  cry  broke  from  the  blood-bespattered  lips ! 
"  I  am  not  dying  !  I  am  not  dying  !  You  said  just 
now  I  should  be  better  soon." 

"  So  you  will ;  so  you  will.  But  only  if  we  have 
money.     Our  last  farthing,  our  last  means  of  raising 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  393 

a  farthing,  is  gone.  Without  proper  food,  without 
a  spark  of  fire,  how  can  you  hold  out  a  week  in  this 
bitter  weather  ?  No,  unless  you  would  pass  from  the 
light  and  the  gladness  of  life  to  the  gloom  and  the 
shadow  of  the  tomb,  you  must  be  instantly  baptized." 

'' Shmad  myself!  Never!"  said  the  sick  man, 
the  very  word  conjuring  up  an  intolerable  loathing, 
deeper  than  reason ;  and  then  another  violent  fit  of 
coughing  shook  him. 

"See  how  this  freezing  atmosphere  tells  on  you. 
You  must  take  Christian  gold,  I  tell  you.  Thus 
only  shall  I  be  able  to  get  you  fire  —  to  get  you  fire," 
repeated  the  hunchback  with  horrible  emphasis. 
"You  call  yourself  a  disbeliever.  If  so,  what  mat- 
ters.? Why  should  you  die  for  a  miserable  prej- 
udice }  But  you  are  no  true  infidel.  So  long  as 
you  shrink  from  professing  any  religion  under  the 
sun,  you  still  possess  a  religion.  Your  unfaith  is  but 
foam-drift  on  the  deep  sea  of  faith;  but  lip-babble 
while  your  heart  is  still  infected  with  superstition. 
Come,  bid  me  fetch  the  priest  with  his  crucifix  and 
holy  water.  Let  us  fool  him  to  the  top  of  his  bent. 
Rouse  yourself;  be  a  man  and  live." 

"  No,  no,  brother  !  I  will  be  a  man  and  die." 

"  Fool !  "  hissed  the  hunchback.  "  It  fits  not  one 
who  has  lived  for  months  by  Christian  gold  to  be  so 
nice." 

"  You  lie  !  "  Moshe  gasped. 

"The  seven  months  that  you  and  I  have  known 


894  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

each  other,  it  is  Christian  gold  that  has  warmed  you 
and  fed  you  and  rejoiced  you,  and  that,  melted  down, 
has  flowed  in  your  veins  as  wine.  Whence,  then, 
took  I  the  money  for  our  riotings  ? " 

"  From  your  father,  you  said." 

"Yes,  from  my  spiritual  father,"  was  the  grim 
reply.  "  No,  having  that  belief,  which  yon  still  lack, 
in  the  hollowness  and  mockery  of  all  save  pleasure, 
I  became  a  Christian.  For  a  time  they  paid  me 
well,  but  as  soon  as  I  had  been  put  on  the  annual 
report  I  had  served  my  purpose  and  the  supplies 
fell  off.  I  could  be  converted  again  in  another  town 
or  country,  but  I  dare  not  leave  you.  But  you  are 
a  new  man,  and  should  I  drag  you  into  the  fold  they 
will  reward  us  both  well.  Instead  of  subsisting  on 
ary  bread  and  milk  you  will  fare  on  champagne  and 
turtle-soup  once  more." 

Moshe  sat  up  and  gazed  wildly  one  long  second 
at  the  Tempter.  He  looked  at  his  own  fleshless 
arms,  and  shuddered.  He  felt  the  icy  hand  of  Death 
upon  him.  He  knew  himself  a  young  man  still. 
Must  he  go  down  into  the  eternal  darkness,  and  be 
folded  in  the  freezing  clasp  of  the  King  of  Terrors, 
while  the  warm  bosom  of  Life  offered  itself  to  his 
embrace }  No ;  give  him  Life,  Life,  Life,  polluted 
and  stained  with  hypocrisy,  but  still  Life,  delicious 
Life. 

The  steely  eyes  of  the  hunchback  watched  the 
contest   anxiously.     Suddenly  a  change    came   over 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  896 

the  wildly  working  face  —  it  fell  back  chill  and  rigid 
on  the  pillow,  the  eyes  closed.  The  room  seemed 
to  fill  with  an  impalpable,  brooding  Vapour,  as  if  a 
thick  fog  were  falling  outside.  The  watcher  caught 
madly  at  his  friend's  wrist  and  sought  to  detect  a 
pulsation.  His  eyes  glowed  with  horrible  exultant 
relief. 

"Not  yet,  not  yet.  Brother  Azrael,"  he  said 
mockingly,  as  if  addressing  the  impalpable  Va- 
pour ;  "  Thou  who  art  wholly  woven  of  Eyes,  canst 
Thou  not  see  that  it  is  not  yet  time  to  throw  the 
fatal  pellet  into  his  throat }     Back,  back  !  " 

The  Vapour  thickened.  The  minutes  passed. 
The  hunchback  peered  expectant  at  the  corpse- 
like face  on  the  dingy  pillow.  At  last  the  eyes 
opened,  but  in  them  shone  a  strange,  rapt  ex- 
pression. 

"  Thank  God,  Rivkoly !  "  the  dying  lips  muttered. 
"I  knew  thou  wouldst  come." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  frantic  beating  at  the 
door.     The  hunchback's  face  was  convulsed. 

"  Hasten,  hasten.  Brother  Azrael !  "  he  cried. 

The  Vapour  lightened  a  little.  Mosh6  Grinwitz 
seemed   to  rally.     His  face  glowed  with  eagerness. 

"Open  the  door!  open  the  door!"  he  cried. 
"It's  Rivkoly  — my  Rivkoly!" 

The  vain  battering  at  the  door  grew  fiercer,  but 
none  noted  it  in  the  house.  Since  the  shadow  of 
the  hunchback   had  first   fallen  within  that  thickly 


396  'SATAN  MEKATRIG 

crowded  human  nest,  the  doves  had  become  hawks, 
the  hawks  vultures.     All  was  discord  and  bickering. 

"  Lie  still,"  said  the  hunchback ;  "  'tis  but  your 
fevered  imagination.     Drink." 

He  put  the  jug  to  the  dying  man's  lips,  but  it 
was  dashed  violently  from  his  hand  and  shattered 
into  a  hundred  pieces. 

"  Give  me  nothing  bought  with  Christian  money  !  " 
gasped  Moshe  hoarsely,  his  breath  rattling  pain- 
fully in  his  throat.  **  Never  will  I  knowingly  gain 
by  the  denial  of  the  Unity  of  God." 

"  Then  die  like  a  dog !  "  roared  the  hunchback. 
"Hasten,  Brother  Azrael !  " 

The  Vapour  folded  itself  thickly  about  the  room. 
The  rickety  door  was  shaken  frantically,  as  by  a 
great  gale. 

"  Moshe  !  Moshe  !  "  shrieked  a  voice.  **  Let  me 
in  —  me  —  thy  Rivkoly  !  In  God's  name,  let  me 
in !  I  bring  thee  a  precious  gift.  Or  art  thou 
dead,  dead,  dead.?  My  God,  why  didst  Thou  not 
cause  me  to  know  he  was  ill  before !  " 

"  Your  husband  is  dying,"  said  the  hunchback. 
"When  he  is  dead,  you  shall  look  upon  his  face. 
But  he  may  not  look  upon  your  face  again.  You 
have  sworn  it." 

"  Devil ! "  cried  the  fierce  voice  of  the  woman. 
"I  swore  it  on  Kol  Nidre  night,  when  I  had  just 
asked  the  Almighty  to  absolve  me  from  all  rash 
oaths.     Let  me  in,  I  tell  you." 


SATAN  MEKATRIG     '  397 

"  I  will  not  have  a  sacred  oath  treated  thus 
lightly,"  said  the  hunchback  savagely.  "  I  will 
keep  your  soul  from  sin." 

"  Cursed  be  thou  to  eternity  of  eternities ! "  re- 
plied the  woman.  "  Pray,  Moshe,  pray  for  thy 
soul.     Pray,  for  thou  art  dying." 

"  Hear,  O  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God,  the  Lord 
is  one,"  rose  the  sonorous  Hebrew. 

"  Hear,  O  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God,  the  Lord 
is  one,"  wailed  the  woman.  The  very  Vapour 
seemed  to  cUng  round  and  prolong  the  vibrations 
of  the  sacred  words.  Only  the  hunchback  was 
silent.  The  mocking  words  died  on  his  lips, .  and 
as  the  woman,  with  one  last  mighty  blow,  dashed 
in  through  the  flying  door,  he  seemed  to  glide 
past  her  and  melt  into  the  darkness  of  the  stair- 
case. 

Rivkoly  heeded  not  his  contorted,  malignant  vis- 
age, crowned  with  its  serpentine  wreath  of  fiery 
hair;  she  flew  straight  through  the  heavy  Vapour, 
stooped  and  kissed  the  livid  mouth,  read  in  a  mo- 
ment the  decree  of  Death  in  the  eyes,  and  then 
put  something  small  and  warm  into  her  husband's 
fast  chilling  arms. 

"Take  it,  Moshe,"  she  cried,  "and  comfort  thy 
soul  in  death.  'Tis  thy  child,  for  God  has  at 
last  sent  us  a  son.  Yom  Kipptir  night  —  now  six 
long  months  ago  —  I  had  a  dream  that  God  would 
forgive  thee,  and  I  was  glad.     But  when  I  thought 


898  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

to  go  home  to  thee  in  the  evening,  I  learnt  that 
thou  hadst  been  feasting  all  that  dread  Day  of 
Atonement  with  the  Satan  Mekatrig;  and  my  heart 
fell,  for  I  knew  that  my  dream  was  but  the  vain 
longing  of  my  breast,  and  that  through  thine  own 
misguided  soul  thou  couldst  never  be  saved  from 
the  eternal  vengeance.  Then  I  went  away,  far 
from  here,  and  toiled  and  lived  hard  and  lone; 
and  I  believed  not  in  my  dream.  But  I  prayed 
and  prayed  for  thy  soul,  and  lo !  very  soon  I  was 
answered ;  for  I  knew  we  should  have  a  child. 
And  then  I  entreated  that  it  should  be  a  son,  to 
pray  for  thee,  and  perhaps  win  thee  back  to  God, 
and  to  say  the  Kaddish  after  thee  when  thou 
shouldst  come  to  die,  though  I  knew  not  that  thy 
death  was  at  hand;  and  a  few  weeks  back  the 
Almighty  was  gracious  and  merciful  to  me,  and 
I  had  my  wish." 

She  ceased,  her  wan  face  radiant.  The  Shadow  of 
Death  could  not  chill  her  sublime  faith,  her  simple, 
trustful  hope.  The  husband  was  clasping  the  feebly 
whimpering  babe  to  his  frozen  breast,  and  showering 
passionate  kisses  on  its  unconscious  form. 

"Rivkoly  !  "  he  whispered,  as  the  tears  rolled  down 
his  cheeks,  "  how  pale  and  thin  thou  art  grown !  O 
God,  my  sin  has  been  heavy ! " 

**  No,  no,"  she  cried,  her  loving  hand  in  his.  **  It 
was  the  Satan  Mekatrig  that  led  thee  astray.  I  am 
well  and  strong.     I  will  work  for  our  child,  and  tmin 


SATAN  MEKATRIG  399 

it  up  to  pray  for  thee  and  to  love  thee.  I  have  named 
it  Jacob,  for  it  shall  wrestle  with  the  Recording  Angel 
and  shall  prevail." 

The  hue  of  death  deepened  on  Mosh6  Grinwitz's 
face,  but  it  was  overspread  by  a  divine  calm. 

**  Ah,  the  good  old  times  we  had  at  the  Cheder  in 
Poland,"  he  said.  "The  rabbi  was  sometimes  cross, 
but  we  children  were  always  in  good  spirits ;  and 
when  the  Rejoicing  of  the  Law  came  round  it  was 
such  fun  carrying  the  candles  stuck  in  hollowed 
apples,  and  gnawing  at  your  candlestick  as  you 
walked.  I  always  loved  Shnchath  Torahy  Rivkoly. 
How  long  is  it  to  the  Rejoicing } " 

"  It  will  soon  be  here  again,  now  Passover  is  over," 
she  said,  pressing  his  hand. 

"  Is  Pesach  over }  "  he  said  mournfully.  *'  I  don't 
remember  giving  Seder^  Why  didst  thou  not  remind 
me,  Rivkoly  }  It  was  so  wrong  of  thee.  Thou  know- 
est  how  I  loved  the  sight  of  the  table  —  the  angels 
always  seemed  to  hover  about  it.  Chad  Gadyah ! 
Chad  Gadyah  !''  he  commenced  to  sing  in  a  cracked, 
hoarse  whisper.  The  child  burst  into  a  wail.  "  Hush, 
hush,  Yaankely,"  said  the  mother,  taking  it  to  her 
breast. 

"  A — a — ah  !  "  A  wild  scream  rose  from  Moshe 
Grinwitz's  lips.  "  My  Kaddish  !  Take  not  away  my 
Kaddish  !  "  He  sat  up,  with  clammy,  ghastly  brow, 
and  glared  with  sightless  eyes,  his  arms  groping.  A 
thin  stream  of  blood  oozed  from  his  mouth. 


400  SATAN  MEKATRIG 

"  Hear,  O  Israel !  "  screamed  the  woman,  as  she 
put  her  hand  to  his  mouth  to  stanch  the  blood. 

He  beat  her  back  wildly.  ''  Not  thee !  I  want 
not  thee !  My  Kaddish ! "  came  the  mad,  hoarse 
whisper.  "  I  have  blasphemed  God !  Give  me  my 
Kaddish  !  give  me  my  Kaddish  !  " 

She  put  the  child  into  his  arms,  and  he  clutched  it 
in  his  dying  frenzy.  As  he  felt  its  feeble  form,  the 
old  divine  peace  came  over  his  face.  The  babe's 
cries  were  hushed  in  fear.  The  mother  was  dumb 
and  stony.  And  silently  the  Vapour  crawled  in 
sluggish  folds  through  the  heavy  air. 

But  in  a  moment  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  deep, 
stertorous  rattle.  Mosh6  Grinwitz's  head  fell  back ; 
his  arms  relaxed  their  hold  of  his  child,  which  was 
caught  with  a  wild  cry  to  its  mother's  bosom.  And 
the  dark  Vapour  lifted,  and  showed  the  three  figures 
to  the  baleful,  agonized  eyes  of  the  hunchback  at  the 
open  door. 


IX 
DIARY   OF  A    MESHUMAD 


IX 
DIARY   OF   A   MESHUMAD* 

Tchemnovosky  Saturday  {midftigkt).  —  So !  The 
first  words  have  been  written.  For  the  first  time  in 
my  Hfe  I  have  commenced  a  diary.  Will  it  prove 
the  solace  I  have  heard  it  is .?  Shall  I  find  these  now 
cold,  blank  pages  growing  more  and  more  familiar, 
till  I  shall  turn  to  them  as  to  a  sympathetic  friend ; 
till  this  little  book  shall  become  that  loved  and  trusted 
confidant  for  whom  my  lonely  soul  longs  1  Instead 
of  either  Black  or  White  Clergy,  this  record  in  black 
and  white  shall  be  my  father  confessor.  Our  village 
pope,  to  whom  I  have  so  often  confessed  everything 
but  the  truth,  would  be  indeed  shocked,  if  he  could 
gossip  with  this,  his  new-created  brother.  What  a 
heap  of  roubles  it  would  take  to  tranquillize  him ! 
Ah,  God !  Ach,  God  of  Israel !  how  is  it  possible 
that  a  man  who  has  known  the  tenderest  human  ties 
should  be  so  friendless,  so  solitary  in  his  closing 
years,  that  not  even  in  memory  can  he  commune 
with    a    fellow-soul }       Verily,    the    old    curse    has 

1  In  order  to  preserve  the  local  colour,  the  Translator  has  occasion- 
ally left  a  word  or  phrase  of  the  MS.  in  the  original  Russian. 

403 


404  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

wrought  itself  out,  that  penalty  of  apo&tasy  which 
came  to  my  mind  the  other  day  after  nearly  forty 
years  of  forgetfulness,  that  curse  which  has  filled  my 
spirit  with  shuddering  awe,  and  driven  me  to  seek 
daily  communion  through  thee,  little  book,  even  with 
my  own  self  of  yesterday  —  "  And  that  soul  shall  be 
cut  off  from  among  its  peopled  Yea,  and  from  all 
others,  too !  For  so  many  days  and  years  Caterina 
was  my  constant  companion ;  I  loved  her  as  my  own 
soul.  Yet  was  she  but  a  sun  that  dazzled  my  eyes 
so  that  I  could  not  gaze  upon  my  own  soul ;  but  a 
veil  between  me  and  my  dead  youth.  The  sun  has 
sunk  forever  below  the  horizon ;  the  veil  is  rent. 
No  phantom  from  the  other  world  hovers  to  remind 
me  of  our  happiness.  Those  years,  with  all  their 
raptures  and  successes,  are  a  dull  blank.  It  is  the 
years  of  boyhood  and  youth  which  resurge  in  my 
consciousness ;  their  tints  are  vivid,  their  tones  are 
clear. 

Why  is  this }  Is  it  Caterina' s  death  }  Is  it  old 
age .''  Is  it  returning  to  these  village  scenes  after 
half  a  lifetime  spent  in  towns .?  Is  it  the  sight  of 
the  izbas,  and  their  torpid,  tow-haired,  sheepskin- 
clad  inhabitants,  and  the  great  slushy  cabbage 
gardens,  that  has  rekindled  the  ashen  past  into 
colours  of  flame  t  And  yet,  except  our  vodka- 
seller,  there  isn't  a  Jew  in  the  place.  However  it 
be,  Caterina's  face  is  filmy,  phantasmal,  compared 
with   my  mother's.     And    mother   died   forty  years 


DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD  405 

ago  ;  the  grass  of  two  short  years  grows  over  my 
wife's  grave.  And  Paul  ?  He  is  living  —  he  kissed 
me  but  a  few  moments  back.  Yet  his  face  is  far- 
away—  elusive.  The  hues  of  life  are  on  my  father's 
—  poor,  ignorant,  narrow-minded,  warm-hearted  fa- 
ther, whose  heart  I  broke.  Happily  I  have  not  to 
bear  the  remembrance  of  his  dying  look,  but  can 
picture  him  as  I  saw  him  in  those  miserable,  happy 
days.  My  father's  kiss  is  warm  upon  the  lips  which 
my  son's  has  just  left  cold.  Poor  St.  Paul,  living 
up  there  with  your  ideals  and  your  theories  like 
a  dove  in  a  balloon !  And  yet,  goliibtchik^  how  I 
love  you,  my  handsome,  gifted  boy,  fighting  the 
battle  of  life  so  pluckily  and  well !  Ah  !  it  is  hard 
fighting  when  one  is  hampered  by  a  conscience. 
Is  it  your  fault  that  the  cold  iron  bar  of  a  secret 
lies  between  our  souls ;  that  a  bar  my  own  hands 
have  forged,  and  which  I  have  not  the  courage  or 
the  strength  to  break,  keeps  you  from  my  inmost 
heart,  and  makes  us  strangers }  No ;  you  are  the 
best  of  sons,  and  love  me  truly.  But  if  your  eyes 
were  purged,  and  you  could  see  the  ugly,  hateful 
thing,  and  through  and  beyond  it,  into  my  ugly, 
hateful  soul !  Ah,  no  !  That  must  never  be.  Your 
affection,  your  reverential  affection,  is  the  only 
sacred  and  precious  thing  yet  left  to  me  on  earth. 
If  I  lost  that,  if  my  spirit  were  cut  off  even  from 
the  semblance  of  human  sympathy,  then  might  the 
grave  close  over  my  body,  as  it  would  have  already 


406  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

closed  over  my  soul.  And  yet  should  I  have  the 
courage  to  die  ?  Yes ;  for  then  Paul  would  know ; 
Paul  would  obey  my  wishes  and  see  me  buried 
among  my  people.  Paul  would  hire  mourners 
(God !  hired  mourners,  when  I  have  a  son !)  to  say 
the  Kaddish.  Paul  would  do  his  duty,  though  his 
heart  broke.  Terrible,  ominous  words !  Break  my 
son's  heart  as  I  did  my  father's  !  The  Saints  —  voi  ! 
I  mean  God  —  forfend  !  And  for  opposite  reasons. 
Achy  it  is  a  strange  world.  Is  religion,  then,  a 
curse,  eternally  dividing  man  from  man }  No,  I 
will  not  think  these  blasphemous  thoughts.  My 
poor,  brave  Paul ! 

To-morrow  will  be  a  hard  day. 

Sunday  Night.  —  I  have  just  read  over  my  last 
entry.  How  cold,  how  tame  the  words  seem,  com- 
pared with  the  tempest  with  which  I  am  shaken. 
And  yet  it  is  a  relief  to  have  uttered  them ;  to 
have  given  vent  to  my  passion  and  pain.  Already 
this  scrawl  of  mine  has  become  sacred  to  me ;  al- 
ready this  study  in  which  I  write  has  become  a 
sanctuary  to  which  my  soul  turns  with  longing. 
All  day  long  my  diary  was  in  my  thoughts.  All 
my  turbulent  emotions  were  softened  by  the  know- 
ledge that  I  should  come  here  and  survey  them  with 
calm ;  by  the  hope  that  the  tranquil  reflectiveness 
which  writing  induces  would  lead  me  into  some 
haven  of  rest.  And  first  let  me  confess  that  I  am 
glad  Paul  goes  back  to  St.  Petersburg  on  Tuesday. 


DIARY   OF  A  MESH UM AD  407 

It  is  a  comfort  to  have  him  here  for  a  few  days, 
and  yet,  oh,  how  I  dread  to  meet  his  clear  gaze! 
How  irksome  this  close  contact,  with  the  rough 
rubs  it  gives  to  all  my  sore  places !  How  I  ab- 
horred myself  to-day  as  I  went  through  the  ghastly 
mimicries  of  prayer,  and  crossing  myself,  and  genu- 
flexion, in  our  little  church.  How  I  hate  the  sight 
of  its  sky-blue  dome  and  its  gilt  minarets!  When 
the  pope  brought  me  the  Gospel  to  kiss,  fiery 
shame  coursed  through  my  veins.  And  then  when 
I  saw  the  look  of  humble  reverence  on  Paul's  face 
as  he  pressed  his  lips  to  the  silver-bound  volume, 
my  blood  was  frozen  to  ice.  Strange,  dead  memo- 
ries seemed  to  float  about  the  incense-laden  air ; 
shadowy  scenes ;  old,  far-away  cadences.  And 
when  the  deacon  walked  past  me  with  his  bougie^ 
there  seemed  to  flash  upon  me  some  childish  rec- 
ollection of  a  joyous  candle-bearing  procession, 
whereat  my  eyes  grew  filled  with  sudden  tears. 
The  marble  altar,  the  silver  candlesticks,  the  glit- 
tering jewelled  scene  faded  into  mist.  And  then 
the  choir  sang,  and  under  the  music  I  grew  calm 
again.  After  all,  religions  were  made  for  men. 
Afid  this  one  was  just  fitted  for  the  simple  muz- 
hiks who  dotted  the  benches  with  their  stupid, 
good  natured  figures.  They  must  have  their  gold- 
bedecked  gods  in  painting  and  image ;  and  their 
saints  in  gold  brocade  to  kneel  before  at  all  hours  to 
solace  themselves  with  visions  of  a  brocaded  Paradise. 


408  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

And  yet  what  had  I  to  do  with  these  childish  super- 
stitions ?  —  I  whose  race  preached  the  great  doctrine 
of  the  Unity  to  a  world  sunk  in  vice  and  superstition  ; 
whose  childish  lips  were  taught  to  utter  the  SJiemang 
as  soon  as  they  could  form  the  syllables ;  who  know 
that  the  Christian  creed  is  a  monstrous  delusion  !  To 
think  that  I  have  lent  the  sanction  of  my  manhood 
to  these  grotesque  beliefs.  Grotesque,  say  I  ?  when 
to  Paul  they  are  the  essence  of  all  lofty  feeling  and 
aspiration !  And  yet  I  know  that  he  is  blind,  or  sees 
things  with  that  strange  perversion  of  vision  of  which 
I  have  heard  him  accuse  the  Jews  —  my  brethren. 
He  believes  what  he  has  been  taught.  And  who 
taught  him }  Bozhe  moi !  was  it  not  I  who  have 
brought  him  up  in  these  degrading  beliefs,  which  he 
imagines  I  share }  God !  is  this  my  punishment, 
that  he  is  faithful  to  the  creed  taught  him  by  a  father 
who  was  faithless  to  his  own  1  And  yet  there  were 
excuses  enough  for  me,  Thou  knowest.  Why  did 
these  forms  and  ceremonies,  which  now  loom  beauti- 
ful to  me  through  a  mist  of  tears,  seem  hideous 
chains  on  the  free  limbs  of  childhood }  Was  it  my 
father's  fault  or  my  own  that  the  stereotyped  routine 
of  the  day ;  that  the  being  dragged  out  of  bed  in  the 
gray  dawn  to  go  to  synagogue,  or  to  intone  in  monot- 
onous sing-song  the  weary  casuistries  of  the  rabbis ; 
that  the  endless  precepts  or  prohibitions,  made  me 
conceive  religion  as  the  most  hateful  of  tyrannies  "^ 
Through  the  cloud  of   forty  years  I  can  but  dimly 


DIARY  OF  A  ME  SHU  MAD  409 

recall  the  violence  of  the  repulsion  with  which  things 
Jewish  inspired  me  —  of  how  it  galled  me  to  feel  that 
I  was  one  of  that  detested  race,  that  I  was  that 
mockery  and  byword,  a  Zhit;  that,  with  little  sym- 
pathy with  my  people,  I  was  yet  destined  to  partake 
of  its  burdens  and  its  disabilities.  Bitter  as  my  soul 
is  within  me  to-day,  I  can  yet  understand,  can  yet 
half  excuse,  that  fatal  mistake  of  ignorant  and  ambi- 
tious youth. 

It  were  easy  for  me  now  to  acknoyvledge  myself  a 
Jew,  even  with  the  risk  of  Siberia  before  me.  I  am 
rich,  I  have  some  of  the  education  for  which  I 
longed,  above  all,  I  have  lived.  Ah,  how  differently 
the  world,  with  its  hopes  and  its  fears,  and  its  praise 
and  censure,  looks  to  the  youth  who  is  climbing 
slowly  up  the  hill,  and  the  man  who  is  swiftly  de- 
scending to  the  valley !  But  the  knowledge  of  the 
vanity  of  all  things  comes  too  late;  this,  too,  is 
vanity.  Enough  that  I  sacrificed  the  sincerity  and 
reality  of  life  for  unrealities,  which  then  seemed 
to  me  the  only  things  worth  having.  There  was 
none  to  counsel,  and  none  to  listen.  I  fled  my  home ; 
I  was  baptized  into  the  Church.  At  once  all  that 
hampered  me  was  washed  away.  Before  me  stretched 
the  free,  open  road  of  culture  and  well-being.  I  was 
no  longer  the  slave  of  wanton  laws,  the  laughing- 
stock of  every  Muscovite  infant,  liable  to  be  kicked 
and  cuffed  and  spat  at  by  every  true  Russian.  What 
mattered  a  lip-profession  of  Christianity,  when  I  cared 


410  DIARY   OF  A   MESH UM AD 

as  little  for  Judaism  as  for  it  ?  I  never  looked  back  ; 
my  prior  life  faded  quickly  from  my  memory.  Alone 
I  fought  the  battle  of  life  —  alone,  unaided  by  man  or 
hope  in  God.  A  few  lucky  speculations  on  the 
Bourse,  starting  from  the  risking  of  the  few  kopecks 
amassed  by  tuition,  rescued  me  from  the  need  of 
pursuing  riiy  law-studies.  I  fell  in  love  and  married. 
Caterina,  your  lovely  face  came  effectively  between 
me  and  what  vague  visions  of  my  past,  what  dim  un- 
easiness of  remorse,  yet  haunted  me.  You  never 
knew  —  your  family  never  knew — that  I  was  not  a 
Slav  to  the  backbone.  The  new  life  lay  fold  on  fold 
over  the  old ;  the  primitive  writing  of  the  palimpsest 
was  so  thickly  written  over,  that  no  thought  of  what 
I  had  once  been  troubled  me  during  all  those  years 
of  wedded  life,  made  happier  by  your  birth  and 
growth,  my  Paul,  my  darling  Paul ;  no  voice  came 
from  those  forgotten  shores,  save  once,  when  —  who 
knows  through  what  impalpable  medium  .''  —  I  learnt 
or  divined  my  father's  death,  and  all  the  air  was  filled 
with  hollow  echoes  of  reproach.  During  those  years 
I  avoided  contact  with  Jews  as  much  as  I  could ; 
when  it  was  inevitable,  I  made  the  contact  brief. 
The  thought  of  the  men,  of  their  gabardines  and 
their  pious  ringlets,  of  their  studious  dronings  and 
their  devout  quiverings  and  wailings,  of  the  women 
with  their  coarse  figures  and  their  unsightly  wigs ; 
the  remembrance  of  their  vulgar  dialect,  and  their 
shuffling  ways,  and   their    accommodating  morality, 


DIARY   OF  A  MESHUMAD  411 

filled  me  with  repulsion.  As  if  to  justify  myself  to 
myself,  my  mind  conceived  of  them  only  in  their 
meanest  and  tawdriest  aspects.  The  black  points 
alone  caught  my  eye,  and  linked  themselves  into  a 
perfect-seeming  picture. 

Da,  I  have  been  a  good  Russian,  a  good  Christian. 
I  have  not  stirred  my  little  finger  to  help  the  Jews 
in  their  many  and  grievous  afflictions.  They  were 
nothing  to  me.  Over  the  vodka  and  the  champagne 
I  have  joined  in  the  laugh  against  them,  without 
even  feeUng  I  was  of  them.  Why,  then,  these 
strange  sympathies  that  agitate  me  now ;  these  feel- 
ings, shadowy,  but  strong  and  resistless  as  the 
shadow  of  death }  Am  I  sane,  or  is  this  but  in- 
cipient madness }  Am  I  sinking  into  a  literal  second 
childhood,  in  which  all  the  terrors  and  the  sanctities 
that  once  froze  or  stirred  my  soul  have  come  to 
possess  me  once  more.-'  Am  I  dying.-*  I  have 
heard  that  the  scene  of  half  a  century  ago  may  be 
more  vivid  to  dying  eyes  than  the  chamber  of  death 
itself.  Has  Caterina's  death  left  a  blank  which 
these  primitive  beloved  memories  rush  in  to  fill  up } 
Was  it  the  light  of  her  face  that  blinded  me  to  the 
dear  homely  faces  of  my  father  and  mother }  If  I 
had  not  met  her,  how  would  things  have  been  1 
Should  I  have  repented  earlier  of  my  hollow  ex- 
istence }  Was  it  the  genuineness  of  her  faith  in  her 
heathen  creed  that  made  me  acquiesce  in  its  daily 
profession  and  its  dominance  in  our  household  life .'' 


412  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

And  are  the  old  currents  flowing  so  strongly  now, 
only  because  they  were  so  long  artificially  dammed 
up  ?  Of  what  avail  to  ask  myself  these  questions  ?  I 
asked  them  yesterday  and  I  shall  be  no  wiser  to- 
morrow. No  man  can  analyze  his  own  emotions, 
least  of  all  I,  unskilled  to  sound  the  depths  of  my 
soul,  content  if  the  surface  be  unruffled.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  it  is  Paul  who  is  the  cause  of  the  troubling 
of  the  waters,  which  yet  I  am  glad  have  not  been 
left  in  their  putrid  stagnation.  For  since  Caterina's 
clay-cold  form  was  laid  in  the  Moscow  churchyard, 
and  Paul  and  I  have  been  brought  the  nearer  to- 
gether for  the  void,  my  son  has  opened  my  eyes  to 
my  baseness.  The  light  that  radiates  from  his  own 
terrible  nobleness  has  shown  me  how  black  and  pol- 
luted a  soul  is  mine.  My  whole  life  has  been  shuffled 
through  under  false  colours.  Even  if  I  shared  few 
of  the  Jew's  beliefs,  it  should  have  been  my  duty  — 
and  my  proud  duty  —  to  proclaim  myself  of  the  race. 
If,  as  I  fondly  believed,  I  was  superior  to  my  people, 
then  it  behoved  me  to  allow  that  superiority  to  be 
counted  to  their  credit  and  to  the  honour  of  the 
Jewish  flag.  My  poor  brethren,  sore  indeed  has  been 
your  travail,  and  your  cry  of  pain  pierces  the  centu- 
ries. Perhaps  —  who  knows  .-'  —  I  could  have  helped 
a  little  if  I  had  been  faithful,  as  faithful  as  Paul 
will  be  to  his  own  ideals.  Ah,  if  Paul  had  been  a 
Jew — !  My  God!  is  Paul  a  Jew.?  Have  I  upon  my 
shoulders  the  guilt  of  this  loss  to  Judaism,  too  ? 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  418 

Analyze  myself,  reproach  myself,  doubt  my  own 
sanity  how  I  may,  one  thing  is  clear.  From  the 
bottom  of  my  heart  I  long,  I  yearn,  I  burn  to  return 
to  the  religion  of  my  childhood.  I  long  to  say  and 
to  sing  the  Hebrew  words  that  come  scantily  and 
with  effort  to  my  lips.  I  long  to  join  my  brethren  at 
prayer,  to  sit  with  them  in  the  synagogue,  in  the 
study,  at  the  table;  to  join  them  in  their  worship  and 
at  their  meals;  to  share  with  them  their  joys  and 
sorrows,  their  wrongs  and  their  inner  delights. 
Laugh  at  myself  how  I  will,  I  long  to  bind  my  arm 
and  brow  with  the  phylacteries  of  old  and  to  wrap 
myself  in  my  fringed  shawl,  and  to  abase  myself  in 
the  dust  before  the  God  of  Israel;  nay,  to  don  the 
greasy  gabardine  at  which  I  have  mocked,  and  to  let 
my  hair  grow  even  as  theirs.  As  yet  this  is  all  but 
a  troubled  aspiration,  but  it  is  irresistible  and  must 
work  itself  out  in  deeds.  It  cannot  be  argued  with. 
The  wind  bloweth  as  it  listeth ;  who  shall  say  why  I 
am  tempest-tossed } 

Monday  Night.  —  Paul  has  retired  to  rest  to  rise 
early  to-morrow  for  the  journey  to  Moscow.  For 
something  has  happened  to  alter  his  plans,  and  he 
goes  thither  instead  of  to  the  capital.  He  is  sleeping 
the  sleep  of  the  young,  the  hopeful,  and  the  joyous. 
Ach,  that  what  gives  him  joy  should  be  to  me  — ; 
but  let  me  write  down  all.  This  morning  at  break- 
fast Paul  received  a  letter,  which  he  read  with  a 
cry  of  astonishment  and  joy.     "  Look,  little  father, 


414  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

look,"  he  exclaimed,  handing  it  to  me.  I  read,  trying 
to  disguise  my  own  feelings  and  to  sympathize  with 
his  gladness.  It  was  a  letter  from  a  firm  of  well- 
known  publishers  in  Moscow,  offering  to  pubHsh  a 
work  on  the  Greek  Church,  the  MS.  of  which  he  had 
submitted  to  them. 

^^Nu  voty  batiushkay'  said  he,  "  I  will  tell  you  that 
this  book  donnera  d  penser  to  the  theologians  of  the 
bastard  forms  of  Christianity." 

The  ribald  remark  that  rose  to  my  lips  did  not 
pass  them.  "  But  why  did  you  not  tell  me  of  this 
before  t "  I  asked  instead,  endeavouring  to  infuse  a 
note  of  reproach  into  my  indifference. 

"  Ah,  father,  I  did  not  want  you  to  distress  your- 
self. I  knew  your  affection  for  me  was  so  great 
that  you  might  want  to  stint  yourself,  and  put  your- 
self to  trouble  to  help  me  to  pay  the  expenses  of 
publication  myself.  You  would  have  shared  my 
disappointments.  I  wanted  you  to  share  my  triumph 
—  as  now.  It  is  two  years  that  I  have  been  trying 
to  get  it  published.  I  wrote  it  in  the  year  before 
mother,  whose  soul  is  with  the  saints,  left  us.  But, 
eka  !  I  am  recompensed  at  last."  And  his  pale  face 
beamed  and  his  dark  eyes  flashed  with  excitement. 

Yes,  Paul  was  right.  As  Paul  always  is.  Brought 
up,  I  think  wisely,  to  beUeve  in  my  comparative 
poverty,  he  has  become  manlier  for  not  having  a 
crutch  to  lean  upon.  Was  it  not  enough  that  he  was 
devoid  from   the  start  of  the  dull,   dead  weight  of 


DIARY   OF  A   MESH U MAD  416 

Judaism  which  clogged  my  own  early  years  ?  Up 
to  the  present,  though,  he  has  not  done  so  well  as  I. 
Russian  provincial  journalism  scatters  few  luxuries 
to  its  votaries.  Paul  is  so  stupidly  contented  with 
everything  that  he  is  not  likely  to  write  anything  to 
make  a  sensation.     He  has  not  invented  gunpowder. 

Paul's  voice  broke  in  curiously  on  my  reflections. 

^  It  ought  to  make  some  sensation.     I  have  collected 

a   whole   series   of   new   arguments,    partly   textual, 

partly  historical,  to  show  the  absolute  want  of  locus 

standi  of  any  other  than  the  Orthodox  Church." 

"  Indeed,"  I  murmured,  "and  what  is  the  Ortho- 
dox Church  }  "     Paul  stared  at  me. 

"I  mean,"  I  added  hastily,  "your  conception  of 
the  Orthodox  Church." 

"  My  conception }  "  said  Paul.  "  I  suppose  you 
mean  how  do  I  defend  the  conception  which  is 
embodied  in  our  ceremonies  and  ritual } "  And  be- 
fore I  could  stop  him,  he  had  given  me  a  summary 
of  his  arguments  under  which  I  would  not  have  kept 
awake  if  I  had  not  been  thinking  of  other  things. 
My  poor  boy !  So  this  wire-drawn  stuff  about  the 
Sacrament  and  the  Lord's  Supper  is  what  has  cost 
you  toilsome  days  and  sleepless  nights,  while  to  me 
the  thought  that  I  had  embraced  one  variety  of 
Christianity  rather  than  another  had  never  before 
occurred.  All  forms  were  the  same  to  me,  from 
Catholicism  to  Calvinism ;  the  baptismal  water  had 
glided  from  my  back  as  from  a  duck's.    True,  I  have 


416  DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD 

lived  with  all  the  conventional  surroundings  of  my 
Christian  fellow-countrymen,  as  I  have  lived  with  the 
language  of  Russia  on  my  lips,  and  subservient  to 
Russian  customs  and  manners.  But  all  the  while  I 
was  neither  a  Russian  nor  a  Christian.     I  was  a  Jew. 

Every  now  and  again  I  roused  myself  to  laudatory 
assent  to  one  of  Paul's  arguments  when  I  divined  by 
his  tone  that  it  was  due.  But  when  he  wound  up 
with  a  panegyric  on  "  our  glorious  Russian  State," 
and  "  our  little  father,  the  Czar,  God's  Vicegerent 
on  earth,  who  alone  of  European  monarchs  incar- 
nates and  unites  in  his  person  Church  and  State,  so 
that  loyalty  and  piety  are  one,"  I  could  not  refrain 
from  pointing  out  that  it  was  a  pure  fluke  that 
Russia  was  "orthodox"  at  all. 

"  Suppose,"  said  I,  "  Wladimir,  when  he  made  his 
famous  choice  between  the  Creeds  of  the  world,  had 
picked  Judaism?  It  all  turned  on  a  single  man's 
whim." 

"  Father,"  Paul  cried  in  a  pained  tone,  "  do  not 
be  blasphemous.  Wladimir  was  divinely  inspired  to 
dower  his  country  with  the  true  faith.  Just  therein 
lay  the  wisdom  of  Providence  in  achieving  such  great 
results  through  the  medium  of  an  individual.  It  is 
impossible  that  God  should  have  permitted  him  to 
incline  his  ear  to  the  infidel  Israelite,  who  has  sur- 
vived to  be  at  once  a  link  with  the  past  and  a  living 
proof  of  the  sterility  of  the  soul  that  refuses  the  liv- 
ing waters.     The  millions  of  holy  Russia  perpetuat- 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  417 

ing  the  stubborn  heresy  of  the  Jews  —  adopting  an 
unfaith  as  a  faith !  The  very  thought  makes  the 
blood  run  cold.  Nay,  then  would  every  Russian 
deserve  to  be  sunk  in  squalor,  dishonesty,  and  rapac- 
ity, even  as  every  Jew." 

"  Not  every  Jew,  Paul,"  I  remonstrated. 

"  No,  not  perhaps  every  Jew  in  squalor,"  he  as- 
sented, with  a  sarcastic  laugh ;  "  for  too  many  of  the 
knaves  have  feathered  their  nests  very  comfortably. 
Even  the  Raskolnik  is  more  tolerable.  And  many 
of  them  are  not  even  Jews.  The  Russian  Press  is 
infested  with  these  fellows,  who  take  the  bread  out 
of  the  mouths  of  honest  Christians,  and  will  even 
write  the  leaders  in  the  religious  papers.  Believe 
me,  little  father,  these  Jewish  scribblers  who  have 
planted  their  flagstaffs  everywhere  have  cost  me 
many  a  heartache,  many  a  disappointment." 

I  could  not  help  thinking  this  sentiment  somewhat 
unworthy  of  my  Paul,  though  it  threw  a  flood  of 
light  on  the  struggle,  whose  details  he  had  never 
troubled  me  with.  I  began  to  doubt  my  wisdom  in 
sending  so  unpractical  a  youth  out  into  the  battle  of 
life,  to  hew  his  way  as  best  he  might.  But  how  was 
I  to  foresee  that  he  would  become  a  writing  man,  that 
he  would  be  tripped  up  at  every  turn  by  some  clever 
Hebrew,  and  that  his  aversion  from  the  race  would 
be  intensified  ? 

"  But  surely,"  I  said,  after  a  moment  of  silence, 
"  our  Slavic  journalists  are  not  all  Christians,  either." 


418  DIARY   OF  A  MESH UM AD 

"They  are  not,"  he  admitted  sadly.  "The  Uni- 
versities have  much  to  answer  for.  Instead  of  rig- 
idly excluding  every  vicious  book  that  unsettles  the 
great  social  and  religious  ideals  of  which  God  de- 
signed Russia  to  be  the  exponent,  the  works  of  Spen- 
cer and  Taine,  and  Karl  Marx  and  Tourguenieff,  and 
every  literary  Antichrist,  are  allowed  to  poison  faith 
in  the  sap.  The  censor  only  bars  the  superficially 
anti-Russian  books.  But  there  will  come  a  reaction. 
A  reaction,"  he  added  solemnly,  "to  which  this  work 
of  mine  may,  by  the  grace  of  God,  be  permitted  to 
contribute." 

I  could  have  laughed  at  my  son  if  I  had  not  felt 
so  inclined  to  weep.  Paul's  pietism  irritated  me  for 
the"  first  time.  Was  it  that  my  reaction  against  my 
past  had  become  stronger  than  ever,  was  it  that  Paul 
had  never  exposed  his  own  narrowness  so  completely 
before  t  I  know  not.  I  only  know  I  felt  quite 
angry  with  him.  "And  how  do  you  know  there 
will  ever  be  a  reaction .? "  I  asked. 

"  Christ  never  leaves  himself  without  a  witness 
long,"  he  answered  sententiously.  "And  already 
there  are  symptoms  enough  that  the  creed  of  the 
materiaUst  does  not  satisfy  the  soul.  Look  at  our 
Tolstoi",  who  is  coming  back  to  Christianity  after 
ranging  at  will  through  the  gaudy  pleasure-grounds 
of  science  and  life ;  it  is  true  his  Christianity  is  cast 
after  his  own  formula,  and  that  he  has  still  much 
intellectual  pride  to  conquer,  but  he  is  on  the  right 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  419 

road  to  the  fountain  of  life.  But,  little  father,  you 
are  unlike  yourself  this  morning,"  he  went  on,  putting 
his  hand  to  my  hot  forehead.  "You  are  not  well." 
He  kissed  me.  '*  Let  me  give  you  another  cup  of 
tea,"  he  said,  and  turned  on  the  tap  of  the  samovar 
with  an  air  that  disposed  of  the  subject. 

I  sipped  at  my  cup  to  please  him,  remarking  in 
the  interval  between  two  sips  as  indifferently  as  I 
could,  "  But  what  makes  you  so  bitter  against  the 
Jews.-^" 

"And  what  makes  you  so  suddenly  their  cham- 
pion .? "  he  retorted. 

"  When  have  I  championed  them  ? "  I  asked, 
backing. 

"  Your  pardon,"  he  said.  **  Of  course  I  should 
have  understood  you  are  only  putting  in  a  word  for 
them  for  argument's  sake.  But  I  confess  I  have  no 
patience  with  any  one  who  has  any  patience  with 
these  bloodsuckers  of  the  State.  Every  true  Russian 
must  abhor  them.  They  despise  the  true  faith,  and 
are  indifferent  to  our  ideals.  They  sneak  out  of  the 
conscription.  They  live  for  themselves,  and  regard 
us  as  their  natural  prey.  Our  peasantry  are  cor- 
rupted by  their  brandy-shops,  squeezed  by  their 
money-lenders,  and  roused  to  discontent  by  the 
insidious  utterances  of  their  peddlers,  d — d  wander- 
ing Jews,  who  hate  the  Government  and  the  Tschinn 
and  everything  Russian.  When  did  a  Jew  invest  his 
money  in    Russian   industries }     They  are   a  filthy. 


420  DIARY  OF  A  ME  SHU  MAD 

treacherous,  swindling  set.  Believe  me,  batitishka^ 
pity  is  wasted  upon  them." 

"  Pity  is  never  spent  upon  them,"  I  retorted. 
**They  are  what  the  Russians  —  what  we  Russians 
—  have  made  them.  Who  has  pent  them  into  their 
foul  cellars  and  reeking  dens.'*  They  work  with 
their  brains,  and  you  —  we  —  abuse  them  for  not 
working  with  their  hands.  They  work  with  their 
hands,  and  the  Czar  issues  a  ukase  that  they  are  to 
be  driven  off  the  soil  they  have  tilled.  It  is  ^sop's 
fable  of  the  wolf  and  the  lamb." 

"  In  which  the  wolf  is  the  Jew,"  said  Paul  coolly. 
"  The  Jew  can  always  be  trusted  to  take  care  of  him- 
self. His  cunning  is  devilish.  Till  his  heart  is  re- 
generate, the  Jew  remains  the  Ishmael  of  the  modern 
world,  his  hand  against  every  man's,  every  man's 
against  his." 

" '  Love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,' "  I  quoted 
bitterly. 

"Even  so,"  said  Paul.  "The  Jew  must  be  cut  off, 
even  as  the  Christian  must  pluck  out  his  own  eye  if 
it  offendeth  him.  Christ  came  among  us  to  bring 
not  peace  but  a  sword.  If  the  Kingdom  of  Christ 
is  delayed  by  these  vermin,  they  must  be  poisoned 
off  for  the  sake  of  Russia  and  humanity  at  large." 

"  Vermin,  indeed !  "  I  cried  hotly,  for  I  could  no 
longer  restrain  myself.  "And  what  know  you  of 
these  vermin  of  whom  you  speak  with  such  assur- 
ance .'*     What  know  you  of  their  inner  lives,  of  their 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  421 

sanctified  homes,  of  their  patient  sufferings  ?  Have 
you  penetrated  to  their  hearths  and  seen  the  beauti- 
ful naivete  of  their  lives,  their  simple  faith  in  God's 
protection,  though  it  may  well  seem  illusion,  their 
unselfish  domesticity,  their  sublime  scorn  of  tempta- 
tion, their  fidelity  to  the  faith  of  their  ancestors, 
their  touching  celebrations  of  fast  and  festival,  their 
stanchness  to  one  another,  their  humble  living  and 
their  high  respect  for  things  intellectual,  their  un- 
flinching toil  from  morn  till  eve  for  a  few  kopecks 
of  gain,  their  heroic  endurance  of  every  form  of 
torment,  vilification,  contempt  —  ?"  I  felt  myself 
bursting  into  tears  and  broke  from  the  breakfast 
table. 

Paul  followed  me  to  my  room  in  amazement.  In 
the  midst  of  all  my  tempest  of  emotion  I  was  no  less 
amazed  at  my  own  indiscretion. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  }  "  he  said,  clasping 
his  arm  around  my  neck.  "  Why  make  yourself  so 
hot  over  this  accursed  race,  for  whom,  from  some 
strange  whim  or  spirit  of  perverseness,  you  stand  up 
to-day  for  the  first  time  in  my  recollection } " 

"It  is  true;  why  indeed.'*"  I  murmured,  striving 
to  master  myself.  After  all,  the  picture  I  had 
drawn  was  as  ideal  in  its  beauty  as  Paul's  in  its  ugli- 
ness. ^^Nu,  I  only  wanted  you  to  remember  that 
they  were  human  beings." 

^'Ach,  there  is  the  pity  of  it,"  persisted  Paul ; 
"that  human  beings  should  fall  so  low.     And  who 


422  DIARY   OF  A  MESHUMAD 

has  been  telling  you  of  all  these  angelic  qualities 
you  roll  so  glibly  off  your  tongue  ?  " 

"  No  one,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  have  invented  them.  Ha !  ha !  ha  ! " 
And  Paul  went  off  into  a  fit  of  good-humoured 
laughter.  That  laughter  was  a  sword  between  his 
life  and  mine,  but  I  let  a  responsive  smile  play  across 
my  features,  and  Paul  went  to  his  own  room  in  higher 
spirits  than  ever. 

We  met  again  at  dinner,  and  again  at  our  early 
supper,  but  Paul  was  too  full  of  his  book,  and  I  of 
my  own  thoughts  to  permit  of  a  renewal  of  the  dis- 
pute. Even  a  saint,  I  perceive,  has  his  touch  of 
egotism,  and  behind  all  Paul's  talk  of  Russia's  ideals, 
of  the  misconceptions  of  their  fatherland's  function 
by  feather-brained  Nihilists  and  Democrats  possessed 
of  that  devil,  the  modern  spirit,  there  danced,  I  am 
convinced,  a  glorified  vision  of  St.  Paul  floating 
down  the  vistas  of  the  future,  with  a  nimbus  of 
Russian  ideals  around  his  head.  If  he  has  only  put 
them  as  eloquently  into  his  book  as  he  talks  of  them, 
he  will  at  least  be  read. 

But  I  have  bred  a  bigot. 

And  the  more  bigoted  he  is,  the  more  my  heart 
faints  within  me  for  the  simple,  sublime  faith  of  my 
people.  Behind  all  the  tangled  network  of  ceremony 
and  ritual,  the  larger  mind  of  the  man  who  has  lived 
and  loved  sees  the  outlines  of  a  creed  grand  in  its 
simplicity,    subhme   in   its   persistence.      The   spirit 


DIARY  OF  A  ME  SHU  MAD  423 

has  clothed  itself  on  with  flesh,  as  it  must  do  for 
human  eyes  to  gaze  on  it  and  live  with  it;  and  if, 
in  addition,  it  has  swaddled  itself  with  fold  on  fold 
of  garment,  even  so  the  music  has  not  gone  out  of 
its  voice,  nor  the  love  out  of  its  eyes. 

As  soon  as  Paul  is  gone  to-morrow,  I  must  plan 
out  my  future  life.  His  book  will  doubtless  launch 
him  on  the  road  to  fame  and  fortune.  But  what 
remains  for  me  t  To  live  on  as  I  am  doing  would 
be  intolerable.  To  do  nothing  for  my  people,  either 
with  voice  or  purse,  to  live  alone  in  this  sleepy  ham- 
let, cut  off  from  all  human  fellowship,  alienated 
from  everything  that  makes  my  neighbours'  lives 
endurable — better  death  than  such  a  death-in-life. 
And  yet  is  it  possible  that  I  can  get  into  touch  again 
with  my  youth,  that  after  a  sort  of  Rip  Van  Winkle 
sleep,  I  can  take  up  again  and  retwine  the  severed 
strands .?  How  shall  my  people  receive  again  a 
viper  into  its  bosom  1  Well,  come  what  may,  there 
must  be  an  end  to  this.  Even  at  this  moment 
reproachful  voices  haunt  my  ear;  and  in  another 
moment,  when  I  put  down  my  pen  to  go  to  my 
sleepless  bed,  I  shall  take  care  to  light  my  bed- 
room candle  before  extinguishing  my  lamp,  for  the 
momentary  darkness  would  be  filled  with  impalpable 
solemnity  bordering  on  horror.  Flashes  and  echoes 
from  the  ghostly  world  of  my  youth,  the  faces  of 
my  dead  parents,  strange  fragments  of  sound  and 
speech,  the  sough  of  the  wind  in  the  trees   of   the 


424  DIARY  OF  A   MESHUMAD 

"  House  of  the  Living,"  the  far-away  voice  of  the 
Chazan  singing  some  melancholy  tune  full  of  heart- 
break and  weirdness,  the  little  crowded  Cheder 
where  the  rabbi  intoned  the  monotonous  lesson,  the 
whizz  of  the  stone  little  Ivanovitch  flung  at  my  fore- 
head because  I  had  "killed  Christ" — .  No,  my 
nerves  are  not  strong  enough  to  bear  these  visions 
and  voices. 

All  my  life  long  I  see  now  I  have  been  reserved 
and  solitary.  Never  has  any  one  been  admitted  to 
my  heart  of  hearts  —  not  even  Caterina.  But  now  I 
must  unburden  my  soul  to  some  one  ere  I  die.  And 
to  another  living  soul.  For  this  dead  sheet  of  paper 
will  not,  I  perceive,  do  after  all. 

Saturday  Night.  —  Nearly  a  week  has  passed  since 
I  wrote  the  above  words,  and  I  am  driven  to  your 
pages  again.  I  would  have  come  to  you  last  night, 
but  suddenly  I  recollected  that  it  was  the  Sabbath. 
I  have  kept  the  Sabbath.  I  have  prayed  a  few  broken 
fragments  of  prayer,  recovered  almost  miraculously 
from  the  deeps  of  memory.  I  have  rested  from  every 
toil.  I  stayed  myself  from  stirring  up  the  fire,  though 
it  was  cold  and  I  was  shivering.  And  a  new  peace 
has  come  to  me. 

I  have  heard  from  Paul;  he  has  completed  the 
negotiations  with  the  Moscow  booksellers.  The  book 
is  to  have  every  chance.  Of  course,  in  a  way  I  wish 
it  success.  It  cannot  do  much  harm,  and  I  am  proud 
of    Paul,   after    all.     What   a   rabbi  he   would  have 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  426 

made !  It  seems  these  publishers  are  also  the  owners 
of  a  paper,  and  Paul  is  to  have  some  work  on  it,  which 
will  give  him  enough  to  live  upon.  So  he  will  stay 
in  Moscow  for  a  few  months  and  see  his  book  through 
the  press.  He  fears  the  distance  is  too  great  for 
him  to  come  to  and  fro,  as  he  would  have  done  had 
he  been  at  the  capital.  Though  I  know  I  shall  long 
for  his  presence  sometimes  in  my  strange  reactions, 
yet  on  the  whole  I  feel  relieved.  To-morrow  without 
Paul  will  be  an  easier  day.  I  shall  not  go  to  church, 
though  honest  old  Clara  Petroff  skovna  may  stare  and 
cross  herself  in  holy  horror,  and  spoil  the  borsch.  As 
for  the  neighbours  —  let  the  startchina  and  the  staros- 
tas  and  the  retired  major  from  Courland,  and  even 
the  bibulous  Prince  Shoubinoff,  gossip  as  they  will. 
I  cannot  remain  here  now  for  more  than  a  few  weeks. 
Besides,  I  can  be  unwell.  No,  on  second  thoughts,  I 
shall  not  be  unwell.  I  have  had  enough  of  shuffling 
and  deceit. 

Sunday.  —  A  day  of  horrible  en7mi  and  despair. 
I  tried  to  read  the  Old  Testament,  of  course  in  Rus- 
sian, for  Hebrew  books  I  have  none,  and  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  I  could  read  them  if  I  had.  But  the 
black  cloud  lemained.  It  chokes  me  as  I  write.  My 
limbs  are  as  lead,  my  head  aches.  And  yet  I  know 
the  ailment  is  not  of  the  body. 

Monday.  —  The  depression  persists.  I  made  a  lit- 
tle expedition  into  the  country.  I  rowed  up  the 
stream  in  a  duscehubka.     I  tried  to  forget  everything 


426  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

but  the  colours  of  the  forest  and  the  sparkle  of  the 
waters.  The  air  was  less  cold  than  it  has  been  for 
the  last  few  days,  but  the  russet  of  the  pine-leaves 
spoke  to  me  only  of  melancholy  and  decay.  The  sun 
set  in  blood  behind  the  hills.  Once  I  heard  the  howl 
of  the  wolves,  but  they  were  far  away. 

Monday.  — ^o.  Just  a  week.  Nicholas  Alexan- 
drovitch  says  I  must  not  write  yet,  but  I  must  fill  up 
the  record,  even  if  in  a  few  lines.  It  is  strange  how 
every  habit  —  even  diary-keeping  —  enslaves  you,  till 
you  think  only  of  your  neglected  task.  Ah,  well !  if 
I  have  been  ill,  I  have  been  lucky  in  my  period,  for 
those  frightful  storms  would  have  kept  me  indoors. 
Nicholas  Alexandrovitch  says  it  was  a  mild  attack  of 
influenza.  God  preserve  me  from  a  severe  one ! 
And  yet  would  it  not  be  better  if  it  had  carried  me  off 
altogether  ?  But  that  is  a  cowardly  thought.  I  must 
face  the  future  bravely,  for  my  own  hands  have  forged 
my  fate.  How  the  writing  trembles  and  contorts  it- 
self !  I  must  remember  Nicholas's  caution.  He  is  a 
frank,  good-hearted  fellow,  is  our  village  doctor,  and 
I  have  had  two  or  three  talks  with  him  from  between 
the  bedclothes.  I  don't  think  friend  Nicholas  is  a 
very  devout  Christian,  by  the  by ;  for  he  said  one  or 
two  things  which  I  should  have  taken  seriously,  had 
I  been  what  he  thinks  I  am  ;  but  which  had  an  auda- 
cious, ironical  sound  to  my  sympathetic,  sceptical 
ears.  How  funny  was  that  story  about  the  Archi- 
mandrite of  Czernovitch ! 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  427 

Thursday  Afternoon.  —  My  haste  to  be  out  of 
bed  precipitated  me  back  again  into  it.  But  the 
actual  pain  has  been  small.  I  have  grown  very 
friendly  with  Nicholas  Alexandrovitch,  and  he  has 
promised  to  spend  the  evening  with  me.  I  am  better 
now  in  body,  though  still  troubled  in  mind.  Paul's 
silence  has  brought  a  new  anxiety.  He  has  not  writ- 
ten for  twelve  days.  What  can  be  the  matter  with 
him  t  I  suppose  he  is  overworking  himself.  And 
now  to  hunt  up  my  best  cigarettes  for  Monsieur  le 
mMecin.  Strange  that  illness  should  perhaps  have 
brought  me  a  friend.  Nothing,  alas  !  can  bring  me  a 
confidant. 

1 1  p.m.  —  Astounding  discovery !  Nicholas  Alex- 
androvitch is  a  Jew !  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but 
suddenly  something  was  said;  we  looked  at  each 
other,  and  then  a  sort  of  light  flashed  across  our 
faces ;  we  read  the  mutual  secret  in  each  other's 
eyes ;  a  magnetic  impulse  linked  our  hands  together 
in  a  friendly  clasp,  and  we  felt  that  we  were  brothers. 
And  yet  Nicholas  is  a  whole  world  apart  from  me  in 
feeling  and  conviction.  How  strange  and  myste- 
rious is  this  latent  brotherhood  which  binds  our  race 
together  through  all  differences  of  rank,  country,  and 
even  faith !  For  Nicholas  is  an  agnostic  of  agnos- 
tics ;  he  is  even  further  removed  from  sympathy  with 
my  new-found  faith  than  the  ordinary  Christian,  and 
yet  my  sympathy  with  him  is  not  only  warmer  than, 
but  different  in  kind  from,  that  which  I  feel  toward 


428  DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD 

any  Christian,  even  Caterina's  brother.  I  have  told 
him  all.  Yes,  little  book,  him  also  have  I  told  all. 
And  he  sneers  at  me.  But  there  lurks  more  frater- 
nity in  his  sneer  than  in  a  Christian's  applause.  We 
are  knit  below  the  surface  like  two  ocean  rocks, 
whose  isolated  crests  rise  above  the  waters.  Nicho- 
las laughs  at  there  being  any  Judaism  to  survive,  or 
anything  in  Judaism  worth  surviving.  He  declares 
that  the  chosen  people  have  been  chosen  for  the 
plaything  of  the  fates,  fed  with  illusions  and  windy 
conceit,  and  rewarded  for  their  fidelity  with  tor- 
ture and  persecution.  He  pities  them,  as  he  would 
pity  a  dog  that  wanders  round  its  master's  grave,  and 
will  not  eat  for  grief.  In  fact,  save  for  this  pity,  he 
is  even  as  I  was  until  these  new  emotions  rent  me. 
He  is  outwardly  a  Christian,  because  he  could  not 
live  comfortably  otherwise,  but  he  has  nothing  but 
contempt  for  the  poor  peasants  whose  fever-wrung 
brows  he  touches  with  a  woman's  hand.  He  looks 
upon  them  only  as  a  superior  variety  of  cattle,  and 
upon  the  well-to-do  people  here  as  animals  with  all 
the  vices  of  the  muzhiks,  and  none  of  their  virtues. 
For  my  Judaic  cravings  he  has  a  good-natured  mock- 
ery, and  tells  me  I  was  but  sickening  for  this  in- 
fluenza. He  says  all  my  symptoms  are  physical,  not 
spiritual ;  that  the  loss  of  Caterina  depressed  me, 
that  this  depression  drove  me  into  solitude,  and  that 
this  solitude  in  its  turn  reacted  on  my  depression. 
He   thinks   that   religion   is   a   secretion  of   morbid 


DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD  429 

minds,  and  that  my  Judaism  will  vanish  again  with 
the  last  traces  of  my  influenza.  And,  indeed,  there 
is  much  force  in  what  he  says,  and  much  truth  in  his 
diagnosis  and  analysis  of  my  condition.  He  advises 
me  to  take  plenty  of  outdoor  exercise,  and  to  go 
back  again  to  one  of  the  great  towns.  To  go  back 
to  Judaism,  to  ally  one's  self  with  an  outcast  race 
and  a  dying  religion  is,  he  thinks,  an  act  of  folly 
only  paralleled  by  its  inutility.  The  world  will  out- 
grow all  these  forms  and  prejudices  in  time  is  his 
confident  assurance,  as  he  puffs  tranquilly  at  his 
cigarette  and  sips  his  Chartreuse.  He  points  out, 
what  is  true  enough,  that  I  am  not  alone  in  my  dis- 
sent from  the  religion  I  profess ;  for,  as  he  epigram- 
matically  puts  it,  the  greatest  Raskolniks  ^  are  the 
Orthodox.  The  religious  statistics  of  the  Procurator 
of  the  State  Synod  are,  indeed,  a  poor  index  to  the 
facts.  Well,  there  is  comfort  in  being  damned  in 
company.  I  do  not  agree  with  him  on  any  other 
point,  but  he  has  done  me  good.  The  black  cloud 
is  partially  lifted  —  perhaps  the  trouble  was  only 
physical,  after  all.  I  feel  brighter  and  calmer  than 
for  months  past.  Anyhow,  if  I  am  to  become  a  Jew 
again,  I  can  think  it  out  quietly.  Even  if  I  could 
bear  Paul's  contempt,  there  would  always  be,  as 
Nicholas  points  out,  great  peril  for  me  in  renouncing 
the  Orthodox  faith.  True,  it  would  be  easy  enough 
to  bribe  the  priest  and  the  authorities,  and  to  con- 

1  Dissenters. 


430  DIARY  OF  A  MESH U MAD 

tinue  to  receive  my  eucharistical  certificate.  But 
where  is  the  sacrifice  in  that?  It  is  hypocrisy  ex- 
changed for  hypocrisy.  And  then  what  would 
become  of  Paul's  prospects  if  it  were  known  his 
father  was  a  Zhitf  But  I  cannot  think  of  all  this 
now.  Paul's  silence  is  beginning  to  fill  me  with  a 
frightful  uneasiness.  A  presentiment  of  evil  weighs 
upon  me.     My  dear  dove,  my  diisha  Paul ! 

Friday  Afternoon.  — Still  no  letter  from  Paul.  Can 
anything  have  happened.?  I  have  written  to  him, 
briefly  informing  him  that  I  have  been  unwell.  I 
shall  ride  to  Zlotow  and  telegraph,  if  I  do  not  hear 
in  a  day  or  two. 

Saturday  Morning.  —  All  petty  and  stupid  thoughts 
of  my  own  spiritual  condition  are  swallowed  up  in 
the  thought  of  Paul.  Ever  selfish,  I  have  allowed 
him  to  dwell  alone  in  a  far-off  city,  exposed  to  all  the 
vicissitudes  of  life.  Perhaps  he  is  ill,  perhaps  he  is 
half-starved  on  his  journalistic  pittance. 

Saturday  Night.  —  A  cruel  disappointment!  A 
letter  came,  but  it  was  only  from  my  man  of  business, 
advising  investment  in  some  South  American  loan. 
Have  given  him  carte  blanche.  Of  what  use  is  my 
money  to  me  .-^  Even  Paul  couldn't  spend  it  now, 
with  the  training  I  have  given  him.  He  is  only 
fitted  for  the  cowl.  He  may  yet  join  the  Black 
Clergy.     Why  does  he  not  write,  my  poor  St.  Paul } 

Sunday.  —  Obedient  to  the  insistent  clamour  of 
the   bells,   I    accompanied    Nicholas   Alexandrovitch 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  431 

to  churchy  and  mechanically  asked  help  of  the 
Virgin  at  the  street  corner.  For  I  have  gone  back 
into  my  old  indifference,  as  Nicholas  predicted.  I 
have  given  the  necessary  orders.  The  paracladnoi 
is  ready.  To-morrow  I  go  to  Zlotow;  thence  I  take 
the  train  for  Moscow.  He  will  not  tell  me  the  truth 
if  I  wire.  .  .  .  The  weather  is  bitterly  cold,  and 
the  stoves  here  are  so  small.  ...  I  am  shivering 
again,  but  a  glass  of  vodka  will  put  me  right.  ...  A 
knock.  .  .  .  Clara  Petroffskovna  has  run  to  the 
door.     Who  can  it  be  t     Paul } 

Monday  Afternoon.  —  No,  it  was  not  Paul.  Only 
Nicholas  Alexandrovitch.  He  had  heard  in  the  vil- 
lage that  I  was  making  preparations  for  a  journey, 
and  came  to  inquire  about  it,  and  to  reproach  me  for 
not  telling  him.  He  looked  relieved  when  I  told 
him  it  was  only  to  Moscow  to  look  after  Paul.  I  fancy 
he  thought  I  had  had  a  fit  of  remorse  for  my  morn- 
ing's devotions,  and  was  off  to  seek  readmission  into 
the  fold.  Except  our  innkeeper,  there  is  not  a  Jew 
in  this  truly  God-forsaken  place.  Of  course,  I  don't 
reckon  myself  —  or  the  doctor.  I  wonder  if  our  pope 
is  a  Jew  !  I  laugh  —  but  who  knows  .?  Anyhow  I 
am  here,  wrapped  in  my  thickest  fur  cloak,  while 
it  is  Nicholas  who  is  on  the  road  to  Moscow.  He 
spoke  truly  in  saying  I  was  too  weak  yet  to  under- 
take the  journey  —  that  springless  J>arac/adnoz  alone 
is  enough  to  knock  a  healthy  man  up;  though 
whether   he  was   equally  veracious  in  professing  to 


432  DIARY  OF  A   MESHUMAD 

have  business  to  transact  in  Moscow,  I  cannot  say. 
Da^  he  is  a  good  fellow,  is  my  brother  Nicholas. 
To-morrow  I  shall  know  if  anything  has  happened 
to  my  son,  to  my  only  child. 

Tuesday  Night.  —  Thank  God  !  A  wire  from 
Nicholas.  "  Have  seen  Paul.  No  cause  for  uneasi- 
ness. Will  write."  Blessings  on  you,  my  friend,  for 
the  trouble  you  have  taken  for  me.  I  feel  much 
better  already.  Paul  has,  I  suppose,  been  throwing 
himself  heart  and  soul  into  this  new  journaUstic  work, 
and  has  forgotten  his  loving  father.  After  all,  it  is 
only  a  fortnight,  though  it  has  seemed  months. 
Anyhow,  he  will  write.  I  shall  hear  from  him  in  a 
day  or  two  now.  But  a  sudden  thought.  "Will 
write."  Who  will  write }  Paul  or  Nicholas  ?  Oh, 
Paul ;  Paul  without  doubt.  Nicholas  has  told  him 
of  my  anxiety.  Yes.  To-morrow  night  or  the  next 
morning  I  shall  have  a  letter  from  Paul.     All  is  well. 

If  I  were  to  tell  Paul  the  truth,  I  wonder  what  he 
would  say  !     I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  know. 

Thursday  Noon.  —  A  letter  from  Nicholas.  I  can- 
not do  better  than  place  it  here. 

"  My  dear  Demetrius,  —  I  hope  you  got  my  telegram  and 
are  at  ease  again.  I  had  a  lively  journey  up  here,  travelling  in 
company  with  a  Government  employi,  who  is  very  proud  of  his 
country,  and  of  the  Stanislaus  cross  round  his  neck.  Such  a 
pompous  ass  I  have  never  met ;  he  beats  even  our  friend,  Prince 
Shoubinoif,  in  his  Sunday  clothes,  with  the  barina  on  his  arm. 
As  you  may  imagine,  I  drew  him  out  like  a  telescope.  I  have 
many  a  droll  story  for  you  when  I  return.     To  come  to  Paul.     I 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  433 

made  it  my  business  at  once  to  call  upon  the  publishers  —  it 
is  one  of  the  largest  firms  here  —  and  from  them  I  learnt  that 
your  son  was  still  at  the  same  address,  in  the  Kitai-Gorod^  as 
that  given  in  the  first  and  only  letter  you  have  had  from  him. 
I  did  not  care  about  going  there  direct,  for  I  thought  it  best  that 
he  should  be  unaware  of  my  presence,  in  case  there  should  be 
anything  which  it  would  be  advisable  for  me  to  find  out  for  your 
information.  However,  by  haunting  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
offices  of  his  newspaper,  I  caught  sight  of  him  within  a  couple 
of  hours.  He  has  a  somewhat  over- wrought  expression  in  his 
countenance,  and  does  not  look  particularly  well.  I  fancy  he  is 
exciting  himself  about  the  production  of  his  book.  He  has  not 
seen  me  yet,  nor  shall  I  let  him  see  me  till  I  ascertain  that  he  is 
not  in  any  trouble.  It  is  only  his  silence  to  you  that  makes  me 
fancy  something  may  be  the  matter ;  otherwise  I  should  unhesi- 
tatingly put  down  his  pallor  and  intensity  of  expression  to 
over-work. and,  perhaps,  religious  fervour.  He  went  straight  to 
the  Petrovski  Cathedral  on  leaving  the  offices.  I  am  here  for 
a  few  days  longer,  and  will  write  again.  It  is  frightfully  cold. 
The  thermometer  is  at  freezing  point.  I  sit  in  my  shiiba  and 
shiver.     Au  revoir. 

"  Nicholas  Alexandrovitch." 

There  is  something  not  quite  satisfying  about  this 
letter.  It  looks  as  if  there  was  more  beneath  the 
surface.  Paul  is  evidently  looking  ill  or  ecstatic, 
or  both.  But,  at  any  rate,  my  main  anxiety  is 
allayed.  I  can  wait  with  more  composure  for 
Nicholas's  second  letter.  But  why  does  not  the 
boy  write  himself.?  He  must  have  got  the  letter 
telHng  him  I  had  been  unwell.  And  yet  not  a  word 
of  sympathy!  I  don't  half  like  Nicholas's  idea  of 
playing  the  spy,  though,  as  if  my  son  is  not  to  be 
trusted.     What  can  he  suspect  ?     But  Nicholas  Alex- 


434  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

androvitch  dearly  loves  to  invent  a  mystery  for  the 
sake  of  ferreting  it  out.  These  scientific  men  are  so 
sharp  that  they  often  cut  themselves. 

Friday  Afternoon.  —  At  last  Paul  has  written. 

"My  Darling  Papasha,  —  I  am  surprised  you  should  be 
anxious  about  me.  I  am  quite  comfortable  here,  and  have  now 
conquered  all  the  difficulties  that  beset  me  at  the  first.  How 
came  you  to  allow  yourself  to  be  unwell?  I  hope  Nicholas 
Alexandrovitch  is  taking  care  of  you.  By  the  by,  I  almost 
thought  I  saw  him  here  this  morning  on  the  bridge,  looking  over 
into  the  reka,  but  there  was  a  church  procession,  and  I  had  hur- 
ried past  the  man  before  the  thought  struck  me,  and  the  odds 
were  so  much  against  its  being  our  ze7nski-doktor.,  that  I  would 
not  trouble  to  turn  back.  I  have  already  corrected  the  proofs 
of  several  sheets  of  my  book.  It  will  be  dedicated,  by 
special  permission,  to  Archbishop  Varenkin.  My  articles  in  the 
Courier  are  attracting  considerable  attention.  I  hare  left  orders 
for  the  publishers  to  send  you  my  last,  which  will  appear  to- 
morrow. May  the  holy  Mother  and  the  saints  watch  over  you. 
—  Your  devoted  son,  Paul. 

"P.S.  —  I  am  making  more  money  than  I  want,  and  I  shall 
be  glad  to  send  you  some,  if  you  have  any  wants  unsupplied." 

My  darling  boy !  How  could  I  ever  have  felt 
myself  alienated  from  you  t  I  will  come  to  you 
and  live  with  you  and  share  your  triumphs.  No 
miserable  scruples  shall  divide  our  lives  any  more. 
The  past  is  ineradicable ;  the  future  is  its  inevi- 
table fruit.  So  be  it.  My  spiritual  yearnings  and 
wrestlings  were  but  the  outcome  of  a  morbid  physi- 
cal condition.  Nicholas  was  right.  And  now  to 
read   my   son's   article,  which  I  have  here,  marked 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  435 

with  a  blue  border.  Why  should  I,  with  my  super- 
ficial ponderings,  be  right  and  he  wrong  ? 

Saturday  NigJit.  —  I  have  a  vague  remembrance 
that  three  stars  marked  the  close  of  the  Sabbath. 
And  here  in  the  frosty  sky  I  see  a  whole  host  scin- 
tillating in  the  immeasurable  depths.  The  Sabbath 
is  over  and  once  more  I  drag  myself  to  my  writing 
desk  to  pour  out  the  anguish  of  a  tortured  spirit.  All 
day  I  have  sat  as  in  a  dumb  trance  gazing  out  beyond 
the  izbas  and  the  cabbage  fields  toward  the  eternal 
hills.  How  beautiful  and  peaceful  everything  is ! 
God,  wilt  Thou  not  impart  to  me  the  secret  of  peace  "^ 

Little  did  I  divine  what  awaited  my  eyes  when 
they  rested  fondly  on  the  first  sentence  of  Paul's 
article.  Voi^  it  was  a  pronouncement  on  the  Jewish 
question,  venomous,  scathing,  mordant,  terrific.  It 
was  an  indictment  of  the  race,  lit  up  with  all  the 
glow  of  moral  indignation ;  cruel  and  slanderous,  yet 
noble  and  righteous  in  its  tone  and  ideals ;  base  as 
hell,  yet  pure  as  heaven;  breathing  a  savagery  as 
of  Torquemada,  and  a  saintliness  as  of  Tolstoi". 
Paul  in  every  fine,  my  own  noble,  bigoted,  wrong- 
headed  Paul.  As  I  read  it,  my  whole  frame  trem- 
bled. A  corresponding  passion  and  indignation 
stirred  my  blood  to  fever-heat.  All  my  slumbering 
Jewish  instincts  woke  again  to  fresh  life ;  and  I  knew 
myself  for  the  weak,  miserable  wretch  that  I  am. 
To  think  that  a  son  of  mine  should  thus  vilify  his 
own  race.     What  can  I  do.''     Bozhe  moi^  what  can 


436  DIARY   OF  A  MESHUMAD 

I  do  ?  How  can  I  stop  this  horrible,  unnatural  thing  ? 
I  dare  not  open  Paul's  eyes  to  what  he  is  doing.  And 
yet  it  is  my  duty.  ...  It  is  my  duty.  By  that  token 
I  know  I  shall  not  do  it.     Heaven  have  pity  on  me ! 

Tuesday.  —  Heaven  have  pity  on  Paul !  Here  is 
Nicholas's  promised  letter. 

"  Dear  Demetrius,  —  I  have  strange  news  for  you.  It  is 
quite  providential  (I  use  the  word  without  prejudice,  as  the 
lawyers  say)  that  I  came  here.  But  all  is  well  now,  so  you  may 
read  what  follows  without  alarm.  Last  Thursday  morning, 
during  my  purposeful  wanderings  within  Paul's  usual  circuit,  I 
came  face  to  face  with  our  young  gentleman.  His  eyes  stared 
straight  at  me  without  seeing  me.  His  face  was  ghastly  white, 
and  the  lines  were  rigid  as  if  with  some  stern  determination. 
His  lips  were  moving,  but  I  could  not  catch  his  mutterings.  He 
held  a  sealed  letter  in  his  hand.  I  saw  the  superscription.  It 
was  addressed  to  you.  Instantly  the  dread  came  to  my  mind 
that  he  was  about  to  commit  suicide,  and  that  this  was  his  fare- 
well to  you.  I  followed  him.  He  posted  the  letter  at  the  post- 
office,  turned  back,  threaded  his  way  like  a  somnambulist  across 
the  bridge,  without,  however,  approaching  the  parapet,  walked 
mechanically  onward  to  his  own  apartments,  put  the  latch-key 
into  the  house-door,  and  then  fell  back  in  a  dead  faint  —  into  my 
arms.  I  took  him  upstairs,  explained  what  had  happened,  put 
him  to  bed,  and  —  I  write  this  from  the  bedside.  For  the  crisis 
is  over  now ;  the  brain  fever  has  abated,  and  he  has  now  nothing 
to  do  but  to  get  well,  though  he  will  be  longer  about  it  than  a 
young  fellow  of  his  age  has  a  right  to  be.  His  body  is  emaciated 
with  fasts  and  vigils  and  penances.  I  curse  religion  when  I  look 
at  him.  As  if  the  struggle  for  life  were  not  hard  enough  without 
humanity  being  hampered  by  these  miserable  superstitions. 
But  you  will  be  wanting  to  know  what  is  the  matter.  Well, 
batiushka,  what  should  be  the  matter  but  the  old,  old  matter  ? 
La  femme  is,  strange  to  relate,  a  fine  specimen  of  our  own  race 


DIARY   OF  A  MESH U MAD  437 

of  lovely  women,  my  dear  Demetrius.  She  is  a  Jewess  of  the 
most  orthodox  family  in  Moscow,  and  therein  lies  the  crux  of 
the  situation.  (I  am  not  playing  upon  words,  but  the  phrase  is 
doubly  significant  here.)  Of  course  Paul  has  not  the  slightest 
idea  I  know  all  this ;  but  of  course  I  have  had  it  from  his  hot 
lips  all  the  same.  As  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  piece  his  broken 
utterances  together,  they  have  had  some  stolen  love  passages, 
each  followed  by  swift  remorse  on  both  sides,  and  —  another 
furtive  love  passage.  Paul  has  been  comparing  himself  to  St. 
Anthony,  and  even  to  Jesus,  when  Satan,  ce  chef  admirable, 
spread  a  first-class  dinner  in  the  wilderness.  But  the  poor  lad 
must  have  suffered  much  behind  all  his  heroics.  And  what  his 
final  resolution  to  give  her  up  cost  him  is  pretty  evident.  I  sup- 
pose he  must  have  told  you  of  it  in  that  letter.  Isn't  it  the 
oddest  thing  in  the  world  ?  Rachel  Jacobvina  is  the  girl's  name, 
and  her  people  keep  a  clothes'  store  round  the  corner,  and  her 
father  is  the  Parnass  (you  will  remember  what  that  means)  of 
his  synagogue.  She  is  a  sweet  little  thing ;  and  Paul  evidently 
has  a  taste  for  other  belles  than  belles-lettres.  From  what  you 
told  me  of  him  I  fully  expected  this  sort  of  thing.  The  poor 
fellow  is  looking  at  me  now  from  among  his  iced  bandages  with 
a  piteous  air  of  resignation  to  the  will  of  Nicholas  Alexandrovitch 
in  bringing  him  back  to  this  world  of  trouble  when  he  already 
felt  his  wings  sprouting.  Poor  Paul  !  He  little  dreams  what  I 
am  writing ;  but  he  will  get  over  this,  and  marry  some  fair,  blue- 
eyed  Circassian  with  corresponding  tastes  in  fasting,  and  an 
enthusiastic  longing  for  the  Kingdom  of  God,  when  the  year 
shall  be  a  perpetual  Lent.  In  his  failure  to  realize  history, 
he  thinks  it  a  crime  to  adore  a  Jewish  virgin,  though  he 
spends  half  his  time  in  adoring  the  Madonna.  How  shocked 
he  would  be  if  I  pointed  this  out !  People  who  look  through 
ecclesiastical  spectacles  so  rarely  realize  that  the  Holy  Family 
was  a  Jewish  one.  But  my  pen  is  running  away  with  me,  and 
our  patient  looks  thirsty.     Proshchai. 

"  Nicholas." 

'<P.S.  —  There  is  not  the  slightest  danger  of  a  relapse  unless 
the  image  of  this  diabolical  girl  comes  before  him  again.     And  I 


438  DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD 

keep  his  attention  distracted.  Besides,  he  had  finally  conquered 
his  passion.  This  illness  was  at  once  the  seal  and  the  witness 
of  his  unchangeable  resolve.  I  have  heard  him  repeat  the  terms 
of  the  letter  of  farewell  he  sent  her.     It  was  final." 

So  this  was  the  meaning  of  your  silence ;  this  the 
tragedy  that  lay  behind  your  simple  sentence,  '*I 
have  now  conquered  all  the  difficulties  which  beset 
me  at  the  first."  This  was  the  motive  that  guided 
your  hand  to  write  those  bitter  lines  about  our  race, 
so  that  you  might  henceforth  cut  yourself  off  from 
the  possibility  of  allying  yourself  with  it  even  in 
thought.  I  understand  all  now,  my  poor  high- 
mettled  boy.  How  you  must  have  suffered!  How 
your  pride  must  have  rebelled  at  the  idea  that  you 
might  have  to  make  such  a  confession  to  me  —  little 
knowing  I  should  have  hailed  it  with  delight.  That 
temptation  should  have  assailed  you,  too,  at  such  a 
period  —  when  you  were  publishing  your  great  work 
on  the  ideals  of  Holy  Russia !  Mysterious,  indeed, 
are  the  ways  of  Providence.  And  yet  why  may  not 
all  be  well  after  all,  and  Heaven  grant  me  such  grace 
as  I  would  willingly  sacrifice  my  Hf e  to  deserve .?  It 
is  impossible  that  my  son's  passion  can  be  utterly 
dead.  Such  fires  are  only  covered  up.  I  will  go  to 
him  and  tell  him  all.  The  news  that  he  is  a  Jew 
will  revolutionize  him.  His  love  will  flame  up  afresh 
and  take  on  the  guise  and  glamour  of  duty.  Love, 
posing  as  logic,  will  whisper  in  his  ear  that  no  bars 
of  early  training  can  avail  to  keep  him  from  the  race 


DIARY  OF  A   MESHUMAD  439 

to  which  he  belongs  by  blood  and  by  his  father's 
faith.  In  this  girl's  eyes  he  will  read  God's  message 
of  command,  and  I,  God's  message  of  Peace  and 
Reconciliation.  The  tears  are  in  my  eyes;  I  can 
hardly  see  to  write.  The  happiness  I  foresee  is  too 
great.  Blessings  on  your  sweet  face,  Rachel  Jacob- 
vina,  rily  own  darling  daughter  that  is  to  be.  To  you 
is  allotted  the  blessed  task  of  solving  a  fearful  prob- 
lem, of  rescuing  and  reuniting  two  human  lives. 
Yes,  Heaven  is  indeed  merciful.  To-morrow  I  start 
for  Moscow. 

TJmrsday.  —  How  can  I  write  it }  No,  there  is  no 
pity  in  Heaven.  The  sky  smiles  in  steely  blankness. 
The  air  cuts  Uke  a  knife.  Paul  is  well,  or  as  well  as 
a  convalescent  can  be.  He  must  have  had  a  heart 
of  ice.  But  it  is  fortunate  he  had,  seeing  what  the 
icy  fates  have  wrought.  I  arrived  at  Moscow,  and 
hurried  in  a  droshky  across  the  well-known  bridge  to 
Paul's  lodgings.  A  ghastly  procession  stopped  me. 
Some  burlaks  were  bearing  the  corpse  of  a  young 
girl  who  had  thrown  herself  into  the  ice-laden  river. 
A  clammy  foreboding  gathered  at  my  heart,  but  ere 
I  had  time  to  say  a  word,  an  old,  caftan-clad  man, 
with  agonized  eyes  and  a  white,  streaming  beard, 
dashed  up,  pulled  off  the  face-cloth,  revealing  a 
strange,  weird  loveliness,  uttered  a  scream  which 
yet  rings  in  my  ears,  threw  himself  passionately  on 
the  body,  rose  up  again,  murmured  something  sol- 
emnly and  .resignedly  in  Hebrew,  rent  his  garments, 


440  DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD 

readjusted  the  face-cloth,  and  followed  weeping  in 
the  rear.  And  from  lip  to  lip,  that  for  once  forgot 
to  curl  in  scorn,  flew  the  murmur :  "  Rachel  Jacob- 
vina." 

Saturday  Night.  —  I  slouched  into  the  synagogue 
this  morning,  the  cynosure  of  suspicious  eyes.  I 
nearly  uncovered  my  head  in  forgetfulness.  Some- 
body offered  me  a  Talith,  which  I  wrapped  round 
myself  with  marked  awkwardness.  The  service 
moved  me  beyond  measure.  I  have  neither  the  pen 
nor  the  will  to  describe  my  sensations.  I  was  a  youth 
again.  The  intervening  decades  faded  away.  Ra- 
chel's father  said  the  Kaddish.  The  peace  of  God  has 
touched  my  soul.  Paul  is  asleep.  I  have  made  Nich- 
olas take  his  much-needed  rest.  I  am  reading  the 
Hebrew  Psalms.  The  language  comes  back  to  me 
bit  by  bit. 

Monday,  —  Paul  is  sitting  up  reading  —  proofs.  I 
have  been  to  condole  with  Rachel's  father,  as  he  sat 
mourning  upon  the  ground.  I  explained  that  I  was 
a  stranger  in  the  town,  and  had  heard  of  the  accident. 
I  have  given  five  hundred  roubles  to  the  synagogue. 
The  whole  congregation  is  buzzing  with  the  generos- 
ity of  the  rich  Jewish  farmer  from  the  country.  For- 
tunately there  is  no  danger  of  Paul  hearing  anything 
of  my  doings.  He  is  a  prisoner ;  and  Nicholas  and 
myself  keep  watch  over  him  by  turns. 

Tuesday.  —  I  have  just  come  from  a  meeting  of 
the  Palestine  Colonization   Society.     Heavens,  what 


DIARY   OF  A  MESHUMAD  441 

ideals  burn  in  these  breasts  supposed  to  throb  only 
with  cupidity  and  cunning !  Their  souls  still  turn  to 
the  Orient,  as  the  needle  turns  to  the  pole.  And 
how  the  better-off  among  them  pity  their  weaker 
brethren !  With  what  enthusiasm  they  plot  and  plan 
to  get  them  beyond  the  frontier  into  freer  countries, 
but  chiefly  into  the  centre  of  all  Jewish  aspiration, 
the  Holy  Land!  How  they  wept  when  I  doubled 
their  finances  at  a  stroke.     My  poor,  much-wronged 

brethren ! 

*  *  ^  *  *  * 

Odessa^  Monday.  —  It  is  almost  a  year  since  I 
closed  this  book,  and  now,  after  a  period  of  peace, 
I  am  driven  to  it  again.  Paul  has  made  an  irruption 
into  my  tranquil  household.  For  eleven  months  now 
I  have  lived  in  this  little  two-storied  house  overlook- 
ing the  roadstead,  with  Isaac  and  the  ekonomka  for 
my  sole  companions.  So  long  as  I  could  pour  my 
troubles  into  the  ear  of  the  venerable  old  rabbi 
(who  was  starving  for  material  sustenance  when  I 
took  him,  as  I  was  for  spiritual),  so  long  I  had  no 
need  of  you,  my  old  confidant.  But  this  visit  of  Paul 
has  reopened  all  my  sores.  I  have  smuggled  the 
rabbi  out  of  the  way ;  but  even  if  he  were  here,  he 
could  not  understand  the  terrible  situation.  The 
God  of  Israel  alone  knows  what  I  feel  at  having  to 
deny  Him,  at  having  to  hide  my  faith  from  my  own 
son.  He  must  not  stay.  The  New  Year  is  nigh, 
with  its  feasts  and  fasts.     Moreover,  surrounded  as 


442  DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD 

one  is  by  spies,  Paul's  presence  here  may  lead  to 
discoveries  that  I  am  not  what  the  authorities  imag- 
ine. Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had 
gone  back  to  the  village.  But  no.  There  was  that 
church-going.  A  village  is  so  small.  In  this  great 
and  bustling  seaport  I  am  lost,  or  comparatively  so. 
A  few  roubles  in  the  ecclesiastical  palm,  and  com- 
plete oblivion  settles  on  me. 

To-night  I  shall  know  to  what  I  owe  this  sudden 
visit.  Paul  is  radiant.  He  plays  with  his  untold  news 
like  a  child  with  a  new  toy.  He  drops  all  sorts  of  mys- 
terious hints.  He  frisks  around  me  like  a  fond  spaniel. 
But  he  reserves  his  tit-bit  for  to-night,  when  the 
tramp  of  the  sailors  and  the  perambulating  peasantry 
shall  have  died  away,  and  we  shall  be  seated  cosily 
in  my  study,  smoking  our  cigarettes,  and  looking  out 
toward  the  quiet  lights  of  the  shipping.  Of  course  it 
is  good  news  —  Heaven  help  me,  I  fear  Paul's  good 
news.  Good  news  that  Paul  has  come  all  the  way 
from  St.  Petersburg  to  tell  me,  which  only  his  own 
lips  may  tell  me,  must,  if  past  omens  speak  truly,  be 
terrible.     God  grant  I  may  survive  the  telling. 

What  a  coward  I  am !  Have  I  not  long  since 
made  up  my  mind  that  Paul  must  go  his  way  and  I 
mine }  What  difference,  then,  can  his  news  make  to 
me  t  He  will  never  know  now  that  I  am  a  Zhit^  un- 
less he  hears  it  from  my  dying  lips  as  I  utter  the  dec- 
laration of  the  Unity.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  that 
when    I    came   here.      Paul   threatens  to  make    his 


DIARY   OF  A  MESH UM AD  443 

mark  as  a  writer  on  theological  subjects.  To  tell  him 
the  truth  would  only  sadden  him  and  do  him  no  good; 
while  to  reveal  my  own  Judaism  to  the  world  would 
but  serve  to  damage  him  and  injure  his  prospects. 
This  may  seem  but  a  cover  for  my  cowardice,  for  my 
fear  of  State  reprisals;  but  it  is  true  for  all  that. 
Bozhe  moi,  is  it  not  punishment  enough  not  to  be  able 
to  join  my  brethren  in  their  worship.?  I  must  remain 
here,  where  I  am  unknown,  practising  my  religion 
unostentatiously  and  in  secret.  The  sense  of  being 
in  a  Jewish  city  satisfies  my  soul.  We  are  here  more 
than  a  fourth  of  the  population.  House-rent  and  fuel 
are  very  dear,  but  we  thrive  and  prosper,  thanks  to 
God.  I  give  to  our  poor,  through  Isaac,  but  they 
hardly  want  my  help.  I  rejoice  in  the  handsome 
synagogues,  though  I  dare  not  enter  them.  Yes,  I 
am  best  here.  Why  be  upset  by  my  boy's  visit }  Paul 
will  tell  me  his  news,  I  shall  congratulate  him,  he 
will  go  back  to  the  capital,  and  all  will  be  as  before. 

Monday  Midnight.  —  No,  all  can  never  be  as  before. 
One  last  step  remained  to  divide  our  lives  to  all  eter- 
nity.     Voi,  Paul  has  taken  it. 

All  came  off  as  arranged.  We  sat  together  at  my 
window.  It  was  a  glorious  night,  and  a  faint,  fresh 
wind  blew  in  from  the  sea.  The  lights  in  the  har- 
bour twinkled,  the  stars  glistened  in  the  sky.  But  as 
Paul  told  me  his  good  news,  the  whole  horizon  was 
one  great  flame  before  my  eyes.  He  began  by  re- 
capitulating, though  with  fuller  details  than  was  pos- 


444  DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD 

sible  by  letter,  what  I  knew  pretty  well  already;  the 
story  of  the  great  success  of  his  book,  which  had 
been  reviewed  in  all  the  theological  magazines  of 
Europe,  and  had  gone  through  four  editions  in  the 
year,  and  been  translated  into  German  and  Italian ; 
the  story  of  how  he  had  been  encouraged  to  come  to 
St.  Petersburg,  and  how  he  had  prospered  on  the 
press  there.  And  then  came  the  grand  news  —  he 
was  offered  the  editorship  of  the  Novoe  Vremia^  the 
great  St.  Petersburg  paper  ! 

In  an  instant  I  realized  all  it  meant,  and  in  my 
horror  I  almost  fainted.  Paul  would  direct  this  fa- 
mous Government  and  anti-Semitic  organ,  Paul  would 
pen  day  after  day  those  envenomed  leaders,  goading 
on  the  mob  to  turn  and  rend  their  Jewish  fellow- 
citizens,  denying  them  the  rights  of  human  beings. 
Paul  would  direct  the  flood  of  sarcasm  and  misrep- 
resentation poured  forth  day  after  day  upon  my  inof- 
fensive brethren.  The  old  anguish  with  which  I  had 
read  that  article  a  year  ago  returned  to  me ;  but  not 
the  old  tempest  of  wrath.  By  sheer  force  of  will  I 
kept  myself  calm.  A  great  issue  was  at  stake,  and 
I  nerved  myself  for  the  contest. 

"Paul,"  said  I,  "you  are  a  lucky  fellow."  I 
kissed  him  on  the  brow  with  icy  lips.  He  saw 
my  great  emotion,  but  felt  it  was  but  natural. 

''Da,''  said  he,  "I  am  a  lucky  fellow.  It  is  a 
great  thing.  Few  men  have  had  such  an  oppor- 
tunity at  twenty-five." 


DIAR  Y   OF  A  MESH U MAD  446 

^^Nutchozh?  And  how  do  you  propose  to  util- 
ize it?"  I  asked. 

^^Ochy  I  must  conduct  the  paper  on  the  same  gen- 
eral lines,"  he  said;  "of  course,  with  improvements." 

"Amongst  the  latter  the  omission  of  the  anti- 
Semitic  bias,  I  hope." 

He  stared  at  me.  "  Certainly  not.  The  propri- 
etors make  its  continuance  on  the  same  general 
lines  a  condition.  They  are  very  good.  They  even 
guard  me  against  possible  prosecutions  by  paying 
a  handsome  salary  to  a  man  of  straw.  Ish-lid,  it 
is  a  fine  berth  that  I've  got." 

Should  I  tell  him  the  thing  was  impossible  — 
that  he  was  a  Jew  t  No ;  time  for  that  when  all 
other  means  had  failed.  "  Och,  you  have  accepted 
it.?"  I  said. 

"  Of  course  I  have,  father.  Why  should  I  give 
them  time  to  change  their  minds .?  " 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  would  have  con- 
sulted me  first." 

"iV//,  uzh,  I  have  never  consulted  you  yet  about 
accepting  work,"  he  said  in  a  wondering,  disap- 
pointed tone. 

"Nuka,  but  this  puts  you  finally  into  a  career, 
does  it  not.? " 

"  Certainly.  That  is  why  I  accepted  it,  and  I 
thought  you  would  be  glad." 

"That  is  why  you  should  have  refused  it.  But 
I  am  glad  all  the  same." 


446  DIARY  OF  A   MESHUMAD 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  father." 

'^Nuka^  golubtchik,  listen,"  I  said  in  my  most 
endearing  tone,  drawing  my  arm  round  his  neck. 
"  Your  struggles  for  existence  were  but  struggles 
for  the  sake  of  the  struggle.  You  are  not  as  other 
young  men.  You  have  succeeded ;  and  the  moment 
you  win  the  prize  is  the  moment  for  retiring  grace- 
fully, leaving  it  in  the  hands  of  him  who  needs 
it.  Your  fight  was  but  a  game  I  allowed  you  to 
play.     You  are  rich." 

''Rich.?" 

"  Rich !  Nearly  all  my  life  I  have  been  a 
wealthy  man.  I  own  land  in  every  part  of  Russia ; 
I  hold  shares  in  all  the  most  successful  companies. 
I  have  kept  this  knowledge  from  you  so  that  you 
might  enjoy  your  riches  more  when  you  knew  the 
truth." 

"  Rich  } "  He  repeated  the  word  again  in  a  dazed 
tone.     ^^Ack,  why  did  I  not  know  this  before  } " 

"You  had  not  succeeded.  You  had  not  had 
your  experience,  my  son,  my  dearest  Paul.  But 
now  your  work  is  over,  or  rather  your  true  work 
begins.  Freed  from  the  detestable  routine  of  a 
newspaper  office,  you  shall  write  your  books  and 
work  out  your  ideas  at  leisure,  and  relieved  from 
all  material  considerations." 

^^Da,  it  would  have  been  a  beautiful  ideal  — 
once,"  he  said;  then  added  fiercely:  "Rich.?  And 
I  did  not  know  it." 


DIARY  OF  A  MESH UM AD  447 

"  But  you  were  the  happier  for  your  ignorance." 

''  No,  father.  The  struggle  is  too  terrible.  Often 
have  I  sat  and  wept.  Ish-lui,  time  after  time  my 
book  —  destined  as  it  was  to  success  —  came  back 
to  me  from  the  publishers.  And  I  could  have 
produced  it  myself  all  along !  " 

Pangs  of  remorse  agitated  me.  Had  my  plan 
been,  indeed,  a  failure.?  "But  you  have  the  pride 
of  unhelped  success." 

"And  the  bitter  memories.  And  once  — "  He 
paused. 

"  Once .?  "  I  said. 

"Once  I  loved  a  girl.  She  is  dead  now,  so  it 
doesn't  matter.  There  were  many  and  complicated 
obstacles  to  our  union.  With  money  they  would 
have  been  overcome." 

"  Poor  boy ! "  I  said  wonderingly,  for  I  knew 
nothing  of  this  apparently  new  love  episode.  "  For- 
give me,  my  son,  if  I  have  acted  mistakenly.  Any- 
how, from  this  moment  your  happiness  is  my  sole 
care." 

"  No,"  he  said,  with  sudden  determination.  "  It 
is  too  late  now.  You  meant  it  for  the  best,  papa- 
sJia.  But  I  do  not  want  the  money  now.  I  have 
money  of  my  own  —  and  glory.  Why  should  I 
give  up  what  my  own  hands  have  won  1  " 

"  Because  I  ask  it  of  you,  Paul ;  because  I  ask 
you  to  allow  me  to  make  reparation  for  the  mis- 
chief I  have  done." 


448  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

"  The  truest  reparation  will  be  to  let  things  go 
unrepaired,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm.  "  I 
shall  be  happier  as  editor  of  this  paper.  What 
finer  medium  for  my  ideas  than  a  great  news- 
paper? What  more  potent  lever  to  my  hand  for 
raising  Holy  Russia  to  a  yet  higher  plane.-*  No, 
father.  Let  bygones  be  bygones.  Give  my  share 
of  your  wealth  to  a  society  for  helping  struggling 
talent.  I  struggle  no  longer.  Leave  me  to  go  on 
in  the  path  my  pen  has  carved  out." 

I  fell  at  his  feet  and  begged  him  to  let  me  have 
my  way,  but  some  obstinate  demon  seemed  to  have 
taken  possession  of  his  breast.  I  opened  my  desk 
and  showered  bank-notes  upon  him.  He  spurned 
them,  and  one  flew  out  into  the  night.  Neither  of  us 
put  out  a  hand  to  arrest  its  flight. 

I  saw  that  nothing  but  the  truth  had  any  chance  to 
alter  his  resolve.  But  I  played  one  more  card  before 
resorting  to  this  dangerous  weapon. 

"  Listen,  my  own  dearest  Paul,"  I  burst  out.  ""  If 
money  will  not  tempt  you,  let  a  father's  petition  per- 
suade you.  Learn,  then,  that  I  dread  your  taking 
this  position  because  you  will  perpetually  have  to 
attack  the  Jews  —  " 

"As  they  deserve,"  he  put  in. 

"  Be  it  so.  But  I  —  I  have  a  kindness  for  this 
oppressed  race." 

He  looked  at  me  in  silence,  as  if  awaiting  further 


DIARY   OF  A  MESHUMAD  449 

explanation.  I  gave  it,  blurting  out  the  shameful  lie 
with  ill-concealed  confusion. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  I  —  I  loved  a  Jewess:  I  could 
not  marry  her,  of  course.  But  ever  since  that  time  I 
have  had  a  soft  place  in  my  heart  for  her  unhappy 
race." 

A  look  of  surprise  flashed  into  Paul's  eyes.  Then 
his  face  grew  tender.     He  took  my  hand  in  his. 

''  Father,  we  have  a  common  sorrow,"  he  said. 
"The  girl  I  spoke  of  was  a  Jewess." 

"  How  } "  I  exclaimed,  surprised  in  my  turn.  It 
was  the  same  affair,  then. 

"Yes,  she  was  a  Jewess.  But  I  taught  her  the 
truth.  Christ  was  revealed  to  her  prisoned  soul.  She 
would  have  fled  with  me  if  we  had  had  the  means, 
and  if  I  had  been  able  to  support  her  in  some  other 
country.  But  she  did  not  dare  be  baptized  and  stay 
in  Moscow  or  anywhere  near.  She  said  her  father 
would  have  killed  her.  The  only  alternative  was  for 
me  to  embrace  Judaism.  Impossible  as  you  may 
think  it,  father,  and  I  confess  it  to  my  eternal  shame, 
at  the  very  period  I  was  correcting  the  proofs  of  my 
book,  I  was  wrestling  with  a  temptation  to  embrace 
this  Satanic  heresy.  But  I  conquered  the  tempta- 
tion. It  was  easy  to  conquer.  To  renounce  the 
faith  which  was  my  blessed  birthright  would,  as  you 
know,  have  cost  me  dear.  Selfishness  warred  for 
once  on  the  side  of  salvation.     Rachel  wished  to  fly 


450  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

with  me.  I  knew  she  would  have  been  poor  and 
unhappy.  I  refuse4  to  take  advantage  of  her  girl- 
ish impefuousness.  I  heard  afterward  that  she 
had  drowned  herself."  The  tears  rained  down  his 
cheeks. 

"  We  had  arranged  to  wait  till  I  could  save  a  stock  of 
money.  Vol,  the  delay  undid  us.  One  day  Rachel's 
father  called  on  me.  He  had  got  wind  of  our  secret. 
He  fell  at  my  feet  and  tore  his  hair,  and  wept  and 
conjured  me  not  to  darken  his  home  and  his  life.  A 
Jewess  could  only  wed  a  Jew,  he  said.  If  I  had  only 
been  born  a  Jew  all  would  have  been  well.  But  his 
Rachel  had,  perhaps,  talked  of  becoming  a  Christian. 
Did  I  not  know  that  was  impossible  }  As  well  expect 
the  sheep  to  howl  like  the  wolf.  Blood  was  thicker 
than  baptismal  water.  Her  heart  would  always 
cleave  to  her  own  religion.  And  was  my  love  s© 
blind  as  not  to  see  that  even  if  she  spoke  of  Chris- 
tianity it  was  only  to  please  me  1  that  she  only 
kissed  the  crucifix  that  I  might  kiss  her,  and  knelt  to 
the  Virgin  that  I  might  kneel  to  her  }  At  home,  he 
swore  it  with  fearful  oaths,  she  was  always  bitterly 
sarcastic  at  the  expense  of  the  true  faith.  I  believed 
him.  My  God,  I  believed  him  !  For  at  times  I  had 
feared  it  myself.  I  would  be  no  party  to  such  carnal 
blasphemy,  and  charged  him  with  a  note  of  farewell. 
When  he  went  I  felt  as  if  I  had  escaped  from  a  terri- 
ble temptation.  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  thanked  the 
saints." 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  451 

"  But  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  at  the  time  ? "  I 
cried  in  intolerable  anguish. 

''Nu;  to  what  end?  It  would  only  have  worried 
you.     I  did  not  know  you  were  rich." 

"And  at  this  time  you  offered  to  send  me  money !  '* 
I  said,  with  sudden  recollection. 

"  Since  I  had  not  enough,  you  might  as  well  have 
some  of  it.  Anyhow,  father,  you  see  all  this  has 
made  no  difference  to  me.  I  shall  never  marry  now, 
of  course;  but  it  hasn't  altered  the  opinion  I  have 
always  had  of  the  Jews  —  rather  corroborated  it. 
•Rachel  told  me  enough  of  the  superstitious  slavery 
amid  which  she  was  forced  to  live.  I  have  no  doubt 
now  that  her  father  lied.  But  for  his  pigheaded 
tribalism,  Rachel  would  have  been  alive  to-day.  So 
why  your  love  for  a  Jewish  girl  should  make  yoii 
tender  to  the  race  I  do  not  see,  dearest  father. 
There  are  always  exceptions  to  everything  —  Rachel 
was  one ;  the  woman  you  loved  was  another.  And 
now  it  is  very  late ;  I  think  I  will  go  to  bed." 

He  kissed  me  and  went  out  at  the  door.  Then  he 
came  back  and  put  his  head  inside  again.  A  sweet, 
sad,  winning  smile  lit  up  his  pale,  thoughtful  face. 

"  I  will  put  you  on  the  free  list  of  the  Novoe 
Vremia,  father,"  he  said.     "  Good-night, /^/^i"/^<3:." 

What  could  I  say .?  What  could  I  do .?  I  called 
up  a  smile  to  my  trembling  lips. 

**  Good-night,  Paul,"  I  said. 

I  shall  never  tell  him  now. 


452  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

Tuesday ^  ^a.m.  —  I  reopen  these  pages  to  note  an 
ironic  climax  to  this  bitter  day.  Through  the  ex- 
citement of  Paul's  coming  I  had  not  read  my  letters. 
After  sitting  here  in  a  numb  trance  for  hours,  I  sud- 
denly bethought  me  of  them.  One  is  from  my  busi- 
ness man,  informing  me  that  he  h^s  just  sold  the 
South  American  stock,  respecting  which  I  gave  him 
carte  blanche.  I  go  to  bed  richer  by  five  thousand 
roubles. 

Odessa^  Wednesday  Night.  —  Six  months  have 
passed.  I  am  on  the  free  list  of  the  Novoe  Vre- 
mia.  Almost  every  day  brings  me  a  fresh  stab  as 
I  read.  But  I  am  a  "constant  reader."  It  is  my 
penance,  and  I  bear  it  as  such.  After  a  long  silence, 
I  have  just  had  a  letter  from  Nicholas  Alexandro- 
vitch,  and  I  reopen  my  diary  to  note  it.  He  is  about 
to  marry  a  prosperous  widow,  and  is  going  over  to 
Catholicism.  He  writes  he  is  very  happy.  Lucky, 
soulless  being.  He  does  not  know  he  will  be  a  richer 
man  when  I  die.  Happily,  I  am  ready,  though  it 
were  to-day.  My  peace  is  made,  I  hope,  with  God 
and  man,  though  Paul  knows  nothing  even  now. 
He  could  not  fail  to  learn  it,  though,  if  he  came  to 
Odessa  again.  I  have  bribed  the  spies  and  the  clergy 
heavily.  Thanks  to  their  silence,  I  am  one  of  the 
most  prominent  Jews  of  the  town,  and  nobody  dreams 
of  connecting  me  with  the  trenchant  editor  of  the 
Novoe   Vremia.     I  see  now  that  I  could  have  acted 


DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD  463 

SO  all  along,  if  I  had  not  been  such  a  coward.  But  I 
keep  Paul  away.  It  is  my  last  cowardice.  In  a 
postscript  Nicholas  writes  that  Paul's  articles  are 
causing  a  great  sensation  in  the  remotest  parts  of 
Russia.  Alas,  I  know  it.  Are  there  not  anti-Jewish 
riots  in  all  parts,  encouraged  by  cruel  Government 
measures  ?  Do  not  the  local  newspapers  everywhere 
reproduce  Paul's  printed  firebrands .?  Have  I  not  the 
pleasure  of  coming  across  them  again  in  our  own 
Odessa  papers,  in  the  Wiertnik  and  the  Listokf  I 
should  not  wonder  if  we  had  an  outbreak  here. 
There  was  a  little  affray  yesterday  in  the  pereouloks 
of  the  Jewish  quarter,  though  we  are  quiet  enough 
down  this  way.  .  .  .  Great  God !  What  is  that 
noise  I  hear  ?  .  .  .  Yes !  it  is !  it  is !  "  Down  with 
the  Zhits  !  Down  with  the  ZJiits  !  "  There  is  red 
on  the  horizon.  Bozhe  moi !  It  is  flame!  Voi ! 
They  are  pillaging  the  Jewish  quarter.  The  sun 
sinks  in  blood,  as  on  that  unhappy  day  among  the 
village  hills.  .  .  .  Ach  !  Paul,  Paul !  Why  did  I 
not  stop  your  murderous  pen  .'*...  But  if  not  you, 
another  would  have  written.  .  .  .  No,  that  is  no 
excuse.  .  .  .  Forgive  me,  O  God,  I  have  been  weak. 
Ever  weak  and  cowardly  from  the  day  I  first  de- 
serted Thee,  even  unto  this  day.  ...  I  am  not 
worthy  of  my  blood,  of  my  race.  .  .  .  They  are 
coming  this  way.  It  goes  through  me  like  a  knife. 
"  Down  with  the  Zhits  !  Down  with  the  Zhits  !  " 
And  now  I  see  them.     They  are  mad,   drunk  with 


454  DIARY  OF  A  MESHUMAD 

the  vodka  they  have  stolen  from  the  Jewish  inns. 
Great  God !  They  have  knives  and  guns.  And 
their  leader  is  flourishing  a  newspaper  and  shout- 
ing out  something  from  it.  There  are  soldiers  among 
them,  and  sailors,  native  and  foreign,  and  mad  muz- 
hiks. Where  are  the  police }  .  .  .  The  mob  is  pass- 
ing under  my  window.  God  pity  me,  it  is  Paurs 
words  they  are  shouting.  .  .  .  They  have  passed. 
No  one  thinks  of  me.  Thank  God,  I  am  safe.  I 
am  safe  from  these  demons.  What  a  narrow  escape  ! 
.  .  .  Ah,  God,  they  have  captured  Rabbi  Isaac  and 
are  dragging  him  along  by  his  white  beard  toward 
the  barracks.  My  place  is  by  his  side.  I  will  rouse 
my  brethren.  We  are  not  a  few.  We  will  turn  on 
these  dogs  and  rend  them.  Proshchai,  my  loved 
diary.     Farewell !     I  go  to  proclaim  the  Unity. 


X 

"INCURABLE" 


X 

"INCURABLE" 

^'■Cast  off  among  the  deady  like  the  slain  that  lie  in  the  grave. 
Whom  Thou  rememberest  no  more,  and  they  are  cut  off  from  Thy 
hand.  Thou  hast  laid  ?ne  in  the  lowest  pit,  iti  dark  places,  in 
the  deeps.  Thy  wrath  lieth  hard  upon  me  and  Thou  hast  afflicted 
me  with  all  Thy  waves.  Thou  hast  put  inine  acquaifitance  far 
from  me ;  Thou  hast  made  me  an  abomination  unto  thefn ;  I  a7n 
shut  up  and  I  cannot  come  forth.  Mine  eye  wasteth  away  by 
reason  of  affliction.  I  have  called  daily  upon  Thee,  O  Lord,  I 
have  spread  forth  my  hands  unto  Thee.''''  —  Eighty-eighth  Psalm. 

There  was  a  restless  air  about  the  Refuge.  In 
a  few  minutes  the  friends  of  the  patients  would  be 
admitted.  The  Incurables  would  hear  the  latest 
gossip  of  the  Ghetto,  for  the  world  was  still  very 
much  with  these  abortive  lives,  avid  of  sensations^ 
Jewish  to  the  end.  It  was  an  unpretentious  institu- 
tion—  two  corner  houses  knocked  together  —  near 
the  east  lung  of  London ;  supported  mainly  by  the 
poor  at  a  penny  a  week,  and  scarcely  recognized  by 
the  rich ;  so  that  paraplegia  and  vertigo  and  rachitis 
and  a  dozen  other  hopeless  diseases  knocked  hope- 
lessly at  its  narrow  portals.  But  it  was  a  model 
institution  all  the  same,  and  the  patients  lacked  for 
nothing  except  freedom  from  pain.     There  was  even 

457 


468  ''INCURABLE " 

a  miniature  synagogue  for  their  spiritual  needs,  with 
the  women's  compartment  religiously  railed  off  from 
the  men's,  as  if  these  grotesque  ruins  of  sex  might 
still  distract  each  other's  devotions. 

Yet  the  Rabbis  knew  human  nature.  The  sprightly, 
hydrocephalous,  paralytic  Leah  had  had  the  chair  she 
inhabited  carried  down  into  the  men's  sitting-room 
to  beguile  the  moments,  and  was  smiling  fascinat- 
ingly upon  the  deaf  blind  man,  who  had  the  Braille 
Bible  at  his  fingers'  ends,  and  read  on  as  stolidly  as 
St.  Anthony.  Mad  Mo  had  strolled  vacuously  into 
the  ladies'  ward,  and,  indifferent  to  the  pretty  white- 
aproned  Christian  nurses,  was  loitering  by  the  side 
of  a  weird,  hatchet-faced  cripple  with  a  stiletto- 
shaped  nose  supporting  big  spectacles.  Like  most 
of  the  patients  she  was  up  and  dressed ;  only  a  few 
of  the  white  pallets  ranged  along  the  walls  were 
occupied. 

"  Leah  says  she'd  be  quite  happy  if  she  could 
walk  like  you,"  said  Mad  Mo  in  complimentary  tones. 
"  She  always  says  Milly  walks  so  beautiful.  She 
says  you  can  walk  the  whole  length  of  the  garden."" 
Milly,  huddled  in  her  chair,  smiled  miserably. 

"  You're  crying  again,  Rebecca,"  protested  a  dark- 
eyed,  bright-faced  dwarf  in  excellent  EngHsh,  as  she 
touched  her  friend's  withered  hand.  "You  are  in 
the  blues  again.     Why,  that  page  is  all  blistered.'* 

"No  —  I  feel  so  nice,"  said  the  sad-eyed  Russian 
in  her  quaint   musical   accent.     "You  sail  not  tink 


''INCURABLE "  459 

I  cry  because  I  am  not  happy.  .  Ven  I  read  sad  tings 
—  like  my  life  —  den  only  I  am  happy." 

The  dwarf  gave  a  short  laugh  that  made  her  pen- 
dent earrings  oscillate.  "  I  thought  you  were  brood- 
ing over  your  love  affairs,"  she  said. 

"  Me  !  "  cried  Rebecca.  "  I  lost  too  young  my 
leg  to  be  in  love.  No,  it  is  Psalm  eighty-eight  dat 
I  brood  over.  *  I  am  afflicted  and  ready  to  die  from 
my  yout'  up.'  Yes,  I  vas  only  a  girl  ven  I  had  to 
go  to  Konigsberg  to  find  a  doctor  to  cut  off  my  leg. 
'  Lover  and  friend  hast  dou  put  far  from  me,  and 
mine  acquaintance  into  darkness  ! '  " 

Her  face  shone  ecstatic. 

"  Hush  !  "  whispered  the  dwarf,  with  a  warning 
nudge  and  a  slight  nod  in  the  direction  of  a  neigh- 
bouring waterbed  on  which  a  pale,  rigid,  middle-aged 
woman  lay,  with  shut  sleepless  eyes. 

"Se  cannot  understand  Englis',''  said  the  Russian 
girl  proudly. 

"  Don't  be  so  sure,  look  how  the  nurses  here  have 
picked  up  Yiddish  !  " 

Rebecca  shook  her  head  incredulously.  "  Sarah  is 
a  Polls'  woman,"  she  said.  **  For  years  dey  are  in 
England  and  dey  learn  noting." 

^^Ich  bin  krank !  Krank !  Krank ! "  suddenly 
moaned  a  shrivelled  Polish  grandmother  —  an  ad- 
vanced centenarian  —  as  if  to  corroborate  the  girl's 
contention.  She  was  squatting  monkey-like  on  her 
bed,  every  now  and  again  murmuring  her  querulous 


460  ''INCURABLE " 

burden  of  sickness,  and  jabbering  at  the  nurses  to 
shut  all  the  windows.  Fresh  air  she  objected  to 
as  vehemently  as  if  it  were  butter  or  some  other 
heterodox  dainty. 

Hard  upon  her  crooning  came  bloodcurdling 
screams  from  the  room  above,  sounds  that  reminded 
the  visitor  he  was  not  in  a  "  Barnum  "  show,  that  the 
monstrosities  were  genuine.  Pretty  Sister  Margaret 
—  not  yet  indurated  —  thrilled  with  pity,  as  before 
her  inner  vision  rose  the  ashen  perspiring  face  of  the 
palsied  sufferer,  who  sat  quivering  all  the  long  day  in 
an  easy-chair,  her  swollen  jelly-like  hands  resting  on 
cotton-wool  pads,  an  air-pillow  between  her  knees, 
her  whole  frame  racked  at  frequent  intervals  by  fierce 
spasms  of  pain,  her  only  diversion  faint  blurred  re- 
flections of  episodes  of  the  street  in  the  glass  of  a 
framed  picture ;  yet  morbidly  suspicious  of  slow 
poison  in  her  drink,  and  cursed  with  an  incurable 
vitality. 

Meantime  Sarah  lay  silent,  bitter  thoughts  moving 
beneath  her  white,  impassive  face  like  salt  tides  below 
a  frozen  surface.  It  was  a  strong,  stern  face,  telling 
of  a  present  of  pain,  and  faintly  hinting  at  a  past  of 
prettiness.  She  seemed  alone  in  the  populated  ward, 
and  indeed  the  world  was  bare  for  her.  Most  of  her 
life  had  been  spent  in  the  Warsaw  Ghetto,  where  she 
was  married  at  sixteen,  nineteen  years  before.  Her 
only  surviving  son  —  a  youth  whom  the  English  at- 
mosphere  had  not  improved  —  had  sailed   away  to 


''INCURABLE "  461 

trade  with  the  Kaffirs.  And  her  husband  had  not 
been  to  see  her  for  a  fortnight! 

When  the  visitors  began  to  arrive,  her  torpor  van- 
ished. She  eagerly  raised  the  half  of  her  that  was 
not  paralyzed,  partially  sitting  up.  But  gradually 
expectation  died  out  of  her  large  gray  eyes.  There 
was  a  buzz  of  talk  in  the  room  —  the  hydrocephalous 
girl  was  the  gay  centre  of  a  group ;  the  Polish  grand- 
mother who  cursed  her  grandchildren  when  they 
didn't  come  and  when  they  did,  was  denouncing  their 
neglect  of  her  to  their  faces ;  everybody  had  some- 
body to  kiss  or  quarrel  with.  One  or  two  acquaint- 
ances approached  the  bed-ridden  wife,  too,  but  she 
would  speak  no  word,  too  proud  to  ask  after  her  hus- 
band, and  wincing  under  the  significant  glances  oc- 
casionally cast  in  her  direction.  By  and  by  she  had 
the  red  screen  placed  round  her  bed,  which  gave  her 
artificial  walls  and  a  quasi-privacy.  Her  husband 
would  know  where  to  look  for  her  — 

"  Woe  is  me ! "  wailed  her  centenarian  country- 
woman, rocking  to  and  fro.  "  What  sin  have  I  com- 
mitted to  get  such  grandchildren }  You  only  come 
to  see  if  the  old  grandmother  isn't  dead  yet.  So  sick ! 
So  sick  !     So  sick  !  " 

Twilight  filled  the  wards.  The  white  beds  looked 
ghostly  in  the  darkness.  The  last  visitor  departed. 
Sarah's  husband  had  not  yet  come. 

"  He  is  not  well,  Mrs.  Kretznow,"  Sister  Margaret 
ventured  to  say  in  her  best  Yiddish.     ''  Or  he  is  busy 


462  ''INCURABLE " 

working.  Work  is  not  so  slack  any  more."  Alone 
in  the  institution  she  shared  Sarah's  ignorance  of  the 
Kretznow  scandal.  Talk  of  it  died  before  her  youth 
and  sweetness. 

"He  would  have  written,"  said  Sarah  sternly. 
"He  is  awearied  of  me.  I  have  lain  here  a  year. 
Job's  curse  is  on  me." 

"  Shall  I  to  him  "  —  Sister  Margaret  paused  to 
excogitate  the  Yiddish  word  —  "  write  } " 

"  No  !     He  hears  me  knocking  at  his  heart." 

They  had  flashes  of  strange  savage  poetry,  these 
crude  yet  complex  souls.  Sister  Margaret,  who  was 
still  liable  to  be  startled,  murmured  feebly,  "  But  —  " 

"  Leave  me  in  peace ! "  with  a  cry  like  that  of  a 
wounded  animal. 

The  matron  gently  touched  the  novice's  arm  and 
drew  her  away.  "/  will  write  to  him,"  she  whis- 
pered. 

Night  fell,  but  sleep  fell  only  for  some.  Sarah 
Kretznow  tossed  in  a  hell  of  loneliriess.  Ah,  surely 
her  husband  had  not  forgotten  her  —  surely  she 
would  not  lie  thus  till  death  —  that  far-off  death  her 
strong  religious  instinct  would  forbid  her  hastening  ! 
She  had  gone  into  the  Refuge  to  save  him  the  con- 
stant sight  of  her  helplessness  and  the  cost  of  her 
keep.  Was  she  now  to  be  cut  off  forever  from  the 
sight  of  his  strength  } 

The  next  day  he  came  —  by  special  invitation.  His 
face  was  sallow,  rimmed  with  swarthy  hair ;  his  un- 


^'INCURABLE "  463 

der  lip  was  sensuous.  He  hung  his  head,  half  veiling 
the  shifty  eyes. 

Sister  Margaret  ran  to  tell  his  wife.  Sarah's  face 
sparkled. 

"  Put  up  the  screen ! "  she  murmured,  and  in  its 
shelter  drew  her  husband's  head  to  her  bosom  and 
pressed  her  lips  to  his  hair. 

But  he,  surprised  into  indiscretion,  murmured :  "  I 
thought  thou  wast  dying." 

A  beautiful  light  came  into  the  gray  eyes. 

"  Thy  heart  told  thee  right,  Herzel,  my  life.  I 
was  dying  —  for  a  sight  of  thee.*^' 

"  But  the  matron  wrote  to  me  pressingly,"  he 
blurted  out.  He  felt  her  breast  heave  convulsively 
under  his  face  ;  with  her  hands  she  thrust  him  away. 

**  God's  fool  that  I  am  —  I  should  have  known ; 
to-day  is  not  visiting  day.  They  have  compassion 
on  me  —  they  see  my  sorrows  —  it  is  public  talk." 

His  pulse  seemed  to  stop.  "  They  have  talked  to 
thee  of  me,"  he  faltered. 

"  I  did  not  ask  their  pity.  But  they  saw  how  I 
suffered —  one  cannot  hide  one's  heart." 

"  They  have  no  right  to  talk,"  he  muttered  in 
sulky  trepidation. 

"They  have  every  right,"  she  rejoined  sharply. 
"If  thou  hadst  come  to  see  me  even  once  —  why 
hast  thou  not .''  " 

"I  —  I  —  have  been  travelling  in  the  country  with 
cheap  jewellery.     The  tailoring  is  so  slack." 


464  ''INCURABLE » 

"  Look  me  in  the  eyes  !  Law  of  Moses  ?  No,  it 
is  a  lie.  God  shall  forgive  thee.  Why  hast  thou  not 
come .'' " 

'*  I  have  told  thee." 

"  Tell  that  to  the  Sabbath  Fire- Woman  !  Why  hast 
thou  not  come  t  Is  it  so  very  much  to  spare  me  an 
hour  or  two  a  week }  If  I  could  go  out  like  some  of 
the  patients,  I  would  come  to  thee.  But  I  have  tired 
thee  out  utterly  —  " 

"  No,  no,  Sarah,"  he  murmured  uneasily. 

''Then  why—.?" 

He  was  covered  with  shame  and  confusion.  His 
face  was  turned  away.  "  I  did  not  like  to  come,"  he 
said  desperately. 

"  Why  not  t  "  Crimson  patches  came  and  went 
on  her  white  cheeks ;  her  heart  beat  madly. 

"  Surely  thou  canst  understand!" 

** Understand  what.?  I  speak  of  green  and  thou 
answerest  of  blue  !  " 

''  I  answer  as  thou  askest." 

"  Thou  answerest  not  at  all." 

"  No  answer  is  also  an  answer,"  he  snarled,  driven 
to  bay.  "Thou  understandest  well  enough.  Thy- 
self saidst  it  was  public  talk." 

"Ah — h — h!"  in  a  stifled  shriek  of  despair.  Her 
intuition  divined  everything.  The  shadowy,  sinister 
suggestions  she  had  so  long  beat  back  by  force  of 
will  took  form  and  substance.  Her  head  fell  back 
on  the  pillow,  the  eyes  closed. 


''INCURABLE "  465 

He  stayed  on,  bending  awkwardly  over  her. 

"  So  sick  !  So  sick !  So  sick !  "  moaned  the 
wizened  grandmother. 

"Thou  sayest  they  have  compassion  on  thee  in 
their  talk,"  he  murmured  at  last,  half  deprecatingly, 
half  resentfully ;  "  have  they  none  on  me  } " 

Her  silence  chilled  him.  "  But  thou  hast  compas- 
sion, Sarah,"  he  urged.     '^Thoti  understandest." 

Presently  she  reopened  her  eyes. 

"Thou  art  not  gone  1 "  she  murmured. 

"No  —  thou  seest  I  am  not  tired  of  thee,  Sarah, 
my  life!     Only—" 

"  Wilt  thou  wash  my  skin,  and  not  make  me  wet }  " 
she  interrupted  bitterly.  "  Go  home.  Go  home  to 
her ! " 

"  I  will  not  go  home." 

"  Then  go  under  like  Korah." 

He  shuffled  out.  That  night  her  lonely  hell  was 
made  lonelier  by  the  opening  of  a  peep-hole  into 
Paradise  —  a  paradise  of  Adam  and  Eve  and  for- 
bidden fruit.  For  days  she  preserved  a  stony  silence 
toward  the  sympathy  of  the  inmates.  Of  what  avail 
words  against  the  flames  of  jealousy  in  which  she 
writhed .? 

He  lingered  about  the  passage  on  the  next  visiting 
day,  vaguely  remorseful,  but  she  would  not  see  him. 
So  he  went  away,  vaguely  indignant,  and  his  new 
housemate  comforted  him,  and  he  came  no  more. 

When  you  lie  on  your  back  all  day  and  all  night 


466  ''INCURABLE " 

you  have  time  to  think,  especially  if  you  do  not  sleep. 
A  situation  presents  itself  in  many  lights  from  dawn 
to  dusk  and  from  dusk  to  dawn.  One  such  light 
flashed  on  the  paradise,  and  showed  it  to  her  as 
but  the  portico  of  purgatory.  Her  husband  would 
be  damned  in  the  next  world,  even  as  she  was  in 
this.  His  soul  would  be  cut  off  from  among  its 
people. 

On  this  thought  she  brooded  till  it  loomed  horribly 
in  her  darkness.  And  at  last  she  dictated  a  letter  to 
the  matron,  asking  Herzel  to  come  and  see  her. 

He  obeyed,  and  stood  shame-faced  at  her  side, 
fidgeting  with  his  peaked  cap.  Her  hard  face 
softened  momentarily  at  the  sight  of  him,  her  bosom 
heaved,  suppressed  sobs  swelled  her  throat. 

"  Thou  hast  sent  for  me .?  "  he  murmured. 

"Yes  —  perhaps  thou  didst  again  imagine  I  was 
on  my  death-bed !  "  she  replied,  with  bitter  irony. 

**  It  is  not  so,  Sarah.  I  would  have  come  of  myself 
—  only  thou  wouldst  not  see  my  face." 

"I  have  seen  it  for  twenty  years  —  it  is  another's 
turn  now." 

He  was  silent. 

*'  It  is  true  all  the  same  —  I  am  on  my  death-bed." 

He  started.  A  pang  shot  through  his  breast.  He 
darted  an  agitated  glance  at  her  face. 

"  Is  it  not  so  }  In  this  bed  I  shall  die.  But  God 
knows  how  many  years  I  shall  lie  in  it." 

Her  calm  gave  him  an  uncanny  shudder. 


''INCURABLE "  467 

"And  till  the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  He,  takes  me, 
thou  wilt  live  a  daily  sinner." 

"  I  am  not  to  blame.  God  has  stricken  me.  I  am 
a  young  man." 

"  Thou  art  to  blame  ! "  Her  eyes  flashed  fire. 
"  Blasphemer  !  Life  is  sweet  to  thee  —  yet  per- 
chance thou  wilt  die  before  me." 

His  face  grew  livid.  "  I  am  a  young  man,"  he 
repeated  tremulously. 

"  Dost  thou  forget  what  Rabbi  Eliezer  said } 
*  Repent  one  day  before  thy  death'  —  that  is  to-day, 
for  who  knows  t  " 

"  What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do  ? " 

"  Give  up  —  " 

"No,  no,"  he  interrupted.  " It  is  useless.  I  can- 
not.    I  am  so  lonely." 

"  Give  up,"  she  repeated  inexorably,  "  thy  wife." 

"  What  sayest  thou }  My  wife  !  But  she  is  not 
my  wife.     Thou  art  my  wife." 

"  Even  so.     Give  me  up.    Give  me  Get  (divorce)." 

His  breath  failed,  his  heart  thumped  at  the  sug- 
gestion. 

"Give  thee  Get!''  he  whispered. 

"Yes.  Why  didst  thou  not  send  me  a  bill  of 
divorcement  when  I  left  thy  home  for  this } " 

He  averted  his  face.  "  I  thought  of  it,"  he  stam- 
mered.    "  And  then  —  " 

"And  then.?"  He  seemed  to  see  a  sardonic  glitter 
in  the  gray  eyes. 


468  ''INCURABLE " 

"I  —  I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid!"  She  laughed  in  grim  mirthlessness. 
"  Afraid  of  a  bed-ridden  woman  !  " 

''  I  was  afraid  it  would  make  thee  unhappy."  The 
sardonic  gleam  melted  into  softness,  then  became 
more  terrible  than  before. 

"  And  so  thou  hast  made  me  happy  instead !  " 

"  Stab  me  not  more  than  I  merit.  I  did  not  think 
people  would  be  cruel  enough  to  tell  thee." 

"  Thine  own  lips  told  me." 

*'  Nay  —  by  my  soul,"  he  cried,  startled. 

"Thine  eyes  told  me,  then." 

"  I  feared  so,"  he  said,  turning  them  away. 
"  When  she  came  into  my  house,  I  —  I  dared  not  go 
to  see  thee — that  was  why  I  did  not  come,  though  I 
always  meant  to,  Sarah,  my  life.  I  feared  to  look 
thee  in  the  eyes.  I  foresaw  they  would  read  the  se- 
cret in  mine — so  I  was  afraid." 

"Afraid!"  she  repeated  bitterly.  "Afraid  I  would 
scratch  them  out!  Nay,  they  are  good  eyes.  Have 
they  not  seen  my  heart  t  For  twenty  years  they 
have  been  my  light.  .  .  .  Those  eyes  and  mine  have 
seen  our  children  die." 

Spasmodic  sobs  came  thickly  now.  Swallowing 
them  down,  she  said,  "And  she — -did  she  not  ask 
thee  to  give  me  Get  ?  " 

"  Nay,  she  was  willing  to  go  without.  She  said 
thou  wast  as  one  dead  —  look  not  thus  at  me.  It  is 
the  will  of  God.     It  was  for  thy  sake,  too,  Sarah, 


""INCURABLE "  469 

that  she  did  not  become  my  wife  by  law.  She,  too, 
would  have  spared  thee  the  knowledge  of  her." 

"  Yes ;  ye  have  both  tender  hearts !  She  is  a 
mother  in  Israel,  and  thou  art  a  spark  of  our  father 
Abraham." 

*'Thou  dost  not  believe  what  I  say  ?" 

*'  I  can  disbelieve  it,  and  still  remain  a  Jewess." 

Then,  satire  boiling  over  into  passion,  she  cried 
vehemently,  "  We  are  threshing  empty  ears.  Think- 
est  thou  I  am  not  aware  of  the  Judgments  —  I,  the 
granddaughter  of  Reb  Shloumi  (the  memory  of  the 
righteous  for  a  blessing)  t  Thinkest  thou  I  am  ig- 
norant thou  couldst  not  obtain  a  Get  against  me  — 
me  who  have  borne  thee  children,  who  have  wrought 
no  evil.?  I  speak  not  of  the  Beth-Din,  for  in  this 
impious  country  they  are  loath  to  follow  the  Judg- 
ments, and  from  the  English  Beth-Din  thou  wouldst 
find  it  impossible  to  obtain  the  Get  in  any  case,  even 
though  thou  didst  not  marry  me  in  this  country,  nor 
according  to  its  laws.  I  speak  of  our  own  Rabbojiiin 
—  thou  knowest  even  the  Maggid  would  not  give 
thee  Get  merely  because  thy  wife  is  bed-ridden. 
That  —  that  is  what  thou  wast  afraid  of." 

"But  if  thou  art  willing,  — "  he  replied  eagerly, 
ignoring  her  scornful  scepticism. 

His  readiness  to  accept  the  sacrifice  was  salt  upon 
her  wounds. 

"Thou  deservest  I  should  let  thee  burn  in  the 
lowest  Gehenna,"  she  cried. 


470  ''INCURABLE » 

**The  Almighty  is  more  merciful  than  thou,"  he 
answered.  "It  is  He  that  hath  ordained  it  is  not 
good  for  man  to  live  alone.  And  yet  men  shun  me 
—  people  talk  —  and  she  —  she  may  leave  me  to  my 
loneliness  again."  His  voice  faltered  with  self-pity. 
"  Here  thou  hast  friends,  nurses,  visitors.  I  —  I 
have  nothing.  True,  thou  didst  bear  me  children, 
but  they  withered  as  by  the  evil  eye.  My  only  son 
is  across  the  ocean;  he  hath  no  love  for  me  or 
thee." 

The  recital  of  their  common  griefs  softened  her 
toward  him. 

"  Go  !  "  she  whispered.  "  Go  and  send  me  the 
Get.  Go  to  the  Maggid,  he  knew  my  grandfather. 
He  is  the  man  to  arrange  it  for  thee  with  his  friends. 
Tell  him  it  is  my  wish." 

"  God  shall  reward  thee.  How  can  I  thank  thee 
for  giving  thy  consent  1 " 

"  What  else  have  I  to  give  thee,  my  Herzel,  I  who 
eat  the  bread  of  strangers  t  Truly  says  the  Proverb, 
*  When  one  begs  of  a  beggar  the  Herr  God  laughs ! '  " 

"  I  will  send  thee  the  Get  as  soon  as  possible." 

**  Thou  art  right,  I  am  a  thorn  in  thine  eye.  Pluck 
me  out  quickly." 

"  Thou  wilt  not  refuse  the  Get,  when  it  comes  ? " 
he  replied  apprehensively. 

"  Is  it  not  a  wife's  duty  to  submit } "  she  asked 
with  grim  irony.  "  Nay,  have  no  fear.  Thou  shalt 
have  no  difficulty  in  serving  the  Get  upon  me.      I 


''INCURABLE "  471 

will  not  throw  it  in  the  messenger's  face.  .  .  .  And 
thou  wilt  marry  her  ?  " 

"Assuredly.  People  will  no  longer  talk.  And 
she  must  needs  bide  with  me.     It  is  my  one  desire." 

"  It  is  mine  likewise.  Thou  must  atone  and  save 
thy  soul." 

He  lingered  uncertainly. 

"  And  thy  dowry  t  "  he  said  at  last.  "  Thou  wilt 
not  make  claim  for  compensation  }  " 

"Be  easy  —  I  scarce  know  where  my  Cesubah 
(marriage  certificate)  is.  What  need  have  I  of 
money.-*  As  thou  sayest,  I  have  all  I  want.  I  do 
not  even  desire  to  purchase  a  grave  —  lying  already 
so  long  in  a  charity-grave.     The  bitterness  is  over." 

He  shivered.  "  Thou  art  very  good  to  me,"  he 
said.     "  Good-bye." 

He  stooped  down  —  she  drew  the  bedclothes  fren- 
ziedly  over  her  face. 

"  Kiss  me  not !  "      . 

"  Good-bye,  then,"  he  stammered.  "  God  be  good 
to  thee !  "     He  moved  away. 

"  Herzel !  "  She  had  uncovered  her  face  with  a 
despairing  cry.  He  slouched  back  toward  her,  per- 
turbed, dreading  she  would  retract. 

"  Do  not  send  it  —  bring  it  thyself.  Let  me  take 
it  from  thy  hand." 

A  lump  rose  in  his  throat.  "  I  will  bring  it,"  he 
said  brokenly. 

The  long  days  of  pain  grew  longer  —  the  summer 


472  ''INCURABLE " 

was  coming,  harbingered  by  sunny  days  that  flooded 
the  wards  with  golden  mockery.  The  evening  Her- 
zel  brought  the  Get,  Sarah  could  have  read  every 
word  on  the  parchment  plainly,  if  her  eyes  had  not 
been  blinded  by  tears. 

She  put  out  her  hand  toward  her  husband,  groping 
for  the  document  he  bore.  He  placed  it  in  her  burn- 
ing palm.  The  fingers  closed  automatically  upon  it, 
then  relaxed,  and  the  paper  fluttered  to  the  floor. 
But  Sarah  was  no  longer  a  wife. 

Herzel  was  glad  to  hide  his  burning  face  by  stoop- 
ing for  the  fallen  bill  of  divorcement.  He  was  long 
picking  it  up.  When  his  eyes  met  hers  again,  she 
had  propped  herself  up  in  her  bed.  Two  big  round 
tears  trickled  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  received  the 
parchment  calmly  and  thrust  it  into  her  bosom. 

"  Let  it  lie  there,"  she  said  stonily,  "  there  where 
thy  head  hath  lain.     Blessed  be  the  true  Judge." 

"  Thou  art  not  angry  with  me,  Sarah  }  " 

"  Why  should  I  be  angry  }  She  was  right  —  I  am 
biit  a  dead  woman.  Only  no  one  may  say  Kaddish 
for  me,  no  one  may  pray  for  the  repose  of  my  soul. 
I  am  not  angry,  Herzel.  A  wife  should  light  the 
Sabbath  candles,  and  throw  in  the  fire  the  morsel  of 
dough.  But  thy  home  was  desolate,  there  was  none 
to  do  these  things.  Here  I  have  all  I  need.  Now 
thou  wilt  be  happy,  too." 

"Thou  hast  been  a  good  wife,  Sarah,"  he  mur- 
mured, touched. 


''INCURABLE "  473 

"  Recall  not  the  past ;  we  are  strangers  now,"  she 
said,  with  recurrent  harshness. 

"  But  I  may  come  and  see  thee  —  sometimes."  He 
had  stirrings  of  remorse  as  the  moment  of  final 
parting  came. 

**  Wouldst  thou  reopen  my  wounds  } " 

"  Farewell,  then." 

He  put  out  his  hand  timidly;  she  seized  it  and 
held  it  passionately. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Herzel !  Do  not  leave  me !  Come 
and  see  me  here  —  as  a  friend,  an  acquaintance,  a 
man  I  used  to  know.  The  others  are  thoughtless  — 
they  forget  me  —  I  shall  lie  here  —  perhaps  the 
Angel  of  Death  will  forget  me,  too."  Her  grasp 
tightened  till  it  hurt  him  acutely. 

*'Yes,  I  will  come  —  I  will  come  often,"  he  said, 
with  a  sob  of  physical  pain. 

Her  clasp  loosened,  she  dropped  his  hand. 

**  But  not  till  thou  art  married,"  she  said. 

"Be  it  so." 

"  Of  course  thou  must  have  a  *  still  wedding.'  The 
English  synagogue  will  not  marry  thee." 

"  The  Maggid  will  marry  me." 

"Thou  wilt  show  me  her  Cesubah  when  thou 
comest  next } " 

"Yes  —  I  will  contrive  to  get  it  from  her." 

A  week  passed  —  he  brought  the  marriage  cer- 
tificate. 

Outwardly  she  was  calm.     She   glanced   through 


474  ""INCURABLE » 

it.  "God  be  thanked,"  she  said,  and  handed  it 
back.  They  chatted  of  indifferent  things,  of  the 
doings  of  the  neighbours.  When  he  was  going,  she 
said,  **  Thou  wilt  come  again  }  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  again." 

"  Thou  art  so  good  to  spend  thy  time  on  me  thus. 
But  thy  wife  —  will  she  not  be  jealous  1 " 

He  stared,  bewildered  by  her  strange,  eerie  mo- 
ments. 

"  Jealous  of  thee  } "  he  murmured. 

She  took  it  in  its  contemptuous  sense  and  her 
white  lips  twitched.  But  she  only  said,  "  Is  she 
aware  thou  hast  come  here.*^" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Do  I  know }  I 
have  not  told  her." 

"Tell  her." 

"  As  thou  wishest." 

There  was  a  pause.     Presently  the  woman  spoke. 

"Wilt  thou  not  bring  her  to  see  me?  Then  she 
will  know  that  thou  hast  no  love  left  for  me  —  " 

He  flinched  as  at  a  stab.  After  a  painful  mo- 
ment he  said:  "Art  thou  in  earnest.-*" 

"I  am  no  marriage-jester.  Bring  her  to  me  — 
will  she  not  come  to  see  an  invalid .?  It  is  a  viitzvah 
(good  deed)  to  visit  the  sick.  It  will  wipe  out  her 
trespass." 

"  She  shall  come." 

She  came.  Sarah  stared  at  her  for  an  instant 
with  poignant  curiosity,  then  her  eyelids  drooped  to 


''INCURABLE "  475 

shut  out  the  dazzle  of  her  youth  and  freshness. 
Herzel's  wife  moved  awkwardly  and  sheepishly. 
But  she  was  beautiful  —  a  buxom,  comely  country 
girl  from  a  Russian  village,  with  a  swelling  bust  and 
a  cheek  rosy  with  health  and  confusion. 

Sarah's  breast  was  racked  by  a  thousand  needles. 
But  she  found  breath  at  last. 

"God  bless  —  thee,  Mrs.  —  Kretznow,"  she  said 
gaspingly. 

She  took  the  girl's  hand. 

"  How  good  thou  art  to  come  and  see  a  sick 
creature." 

*'  My  husband  willed  it,"  the  new  wife  said  in  dep- 
recation.. She  had  a  simple,  stupid  air  that  did  not 
seem  wholly  due  to  the  constraint  of  the  strange 
situation. 

"Thou  wast  right  to  obey.  Be  good  to  him,  my 
child.  For  three  years  he  waited  on  me,  when  I  lay 
helpless.     He  has  suffered  much.     Be  good  to  him  ! " 

With  an  impulsive  movement  she  drew  the  girl's 
head  down  to  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips.  Then 
with  an  anguished  cry  of  "  Leave  me  for  to-day,"  she 
jerked  the  blanket  over  her  face  and  burst  into  tears. 
She  heard  the  couple  move  hesitatingly  away.  The 
girl's  beauty  shone  on  her  through  the  opaque  cover- 
ings. 

"  O  God !  "  she  wailed.  "  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac, 
and  Jacob,  let  me  die  now.  For  the  merits  of  the 
Patriarchs  take  me  soon,  take  me  soon." 


476  "INCURABLE » 

Her  vain  passionate  prayer,  muffled  by  the  bed- 
clothes, was  wholly  drowned  by  ear-piercing  shrieks 
from  the  ward  above  —  screams  of  agony  mingled 
with  half -articulate  accusations  of  attempted  poison- 
ing—  the  familiar  paroxysm  of  the  palsied  woman 
who  clung  to  life. 

The  thrill  passed  again  through  Sister  Margaret. 
She  uplifted  her  sweet  humid  eyes. 

"  Ah,  Christ !  "  she  whispered.  "  If  I  could  die  for 
her ! " 


XI 
THE   SABBATH-BREAKER 


XI 

THE   SABBATH-BREAKER 

The  moment  came  near  for  the  Polish  centenarian 
grandmother  to  die.  From  the  doctor's  statement 
it  appeared  she  had  only  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  to 
live.  Her  attack  had  been  sudden,  and  the  grand- 
children she  loved  to  scold  could  not  be  present. 

She  had  already  battled  through  the  great  wave  of 
pain,  and  was  drifting  beyond  the  boundaries  of  her 
earthly  Refuge.  The  nurses,  forgetting  the  trouble 
her  querulousness  and  her  overweening  dietary  scru- 
ples had  cost  them,  hung  over  the  bed  on  which 
the  shrivelled  entity  lay.  They  did  not  know  she  was 
living  again  through  the  one  great  episode  of  her 
life. 

Nearly  forty  years  back,  when  (though  already 
hard  upon  seventy  and  a  widow)  a  Polish  village  was 
all  her  horizon,  she  received  a  letter.  It  arrived  on 
the  eve  of  Sabbath  on  a  day  of  rainy  summer.  It 
was  from  her  little  boy — her  only  boy  —  who  kept 
a  country  inn  seven-and-thirty  miles  away,  and  had 
u  family.  She  opened  the  letter  with  feverish  anxiety. 
Her  son  —  her  Kaddish  —  was  the  apple  of  her  eye. 

479 


480  THE  SABBATH-BREAKER 

The  old  woman  eagerly  perused  the  Hebrew  script, 
from  right  to  left.  Then  weakness  overcame  her 
and  she  nearly  fell. 

Embedded  casually  enough  in  the  four  pages  was  a 
passage  that  stood  out  for  her  in  letters  of  blood.  "  I 
am  not  feeling  very  well  lately ;  the  weather  is  so 
oppressive  and  the  nights  are  misty.  But  it  is  nothing 
serious ;  my  digestion  is  a  little  out  of  order,  that's 
all."  There  were  roubles  for  her  in  the  letter,  but 
she  let  them  fall  to  the  floor  unheeded.  Panic  fear, 
travelling  quicker  than  the  tardy  post  of  those  days, 
had  brought  rumour  of  a  sudden  outbreak  of  cholera 
in  her  son's  district.  Already  alarm  for  her  boy  had 
surged  about  her  heart  all  day ;  the  letter  confirmed 
her  worst  apprehensions.  Even  if  the  first  touch  of 
the  cholera-fiend  was  not  actually  on  him  when  he 
wrote,  still  he  was  by  his  own  confession  in  that  con- 
dition in  which  the  disease  takes  easiest  grip.  By 
this  time  he  was  on  a  bed  of  sickness  —  nay,  perhaps 
on  his  death-bed,  if  not  dead.  Even  in  those  days 
the  little  grandmother  had  lived  beyond  the  common 
span ;  she  had  seen  many  people  die,  and  knew  that 
the  Angel  of  Death  does  not  always  go  about  his 
work  leisurely.  In  an  epidemic  his  hands  are  too  full 
to  enable  him  to  devote  much  attention  to  each  case. 
Maternal  instinct  tugged  at  her  heart-strings,  drawing 
her  toward  her  boy.  The  end  of  the  letter  seemed 
impregnated  with  special  omen  —  *'  Come  and  see  me 
soon,  dear  little  mother.     I  shall  be  unable  to  get  to 


THE  SABBATH-BREAKER  481 

see  you  for  some  time."  Yes,  she  must  go  at  once 
—  who  knew  but  that  it  would  be  the  last  time  she 
would  look  upon  his  face  ? 

But  then  came  a  terrible  thought  to  give  her  pause. 
The  Sabbath  was  just  "in"  —  a  moment  ago.  Driv- 
ing, riding,  or  any  manner  of  journeying  was 
prohibited  during  the  next  twenty-four  hours.  Fran- 
tically she  reviewed  the  situation.  Religion  permitted 
the  violation  of  the  Sabbath  on  one  condition  —  if 
life  was  to  be  saved.  By  no  stretch  of  logic  could 
she  delude  herself  into  the  belief  her  son's  recovery 
hinged  upon  her  presence  —  nay,  analyzing  the  case 
with  the  cruel  remorselessness  of  a  scrupulous  con- 
science, she  saw  his  very  illness  was  only  a  plausible 
hypothesis.  No;  to  go  to  him  now  were  beyond 
question  to  profane  the  Sabbath. 

And  yet  beneath  all  the  reasoning,  her  conviction 
that  he  was  sick  unto  death,  her  resolve  to  set  out  at 
once,  never  wavered.  After  an  agonizing  struggle 
she  compromised.  She  could  not  go  by  cart  —  that 
would  be  to  make  others  work  into  the  bargain,  and 
would  moreover  involve  a  financial  transaction.  She 
must  walk  !  Sinful  as  it  was  to  transgress  the  limit 
of  two  thousand  yards  beyond  her  village  —  the  dis- 
tance fixed  by  Rabbinical  law  —  there  was  no  help 
for  it.  And  of  all  the  forms  of  travelling,  walking 
was  surely  the  least  sinful.  The  Holy  One,  blessed 
be  He,  would  know  she  did  not  mean  to  work ;  per- 
haps in  His  mercy  He  would  make  allowance  for  an 


482  THE  SABBATH-BREAKER 

old  woman  who  had  never  profaned  His  rest-day 
before. 

And  so,  that  very  evening,  having  made  a  hasty 
meal,  and  lodged  the  precious  letter  in  her  bosom, 
the  little  grandmother  girded  up  her  loins  to  walk 
the  seven-and-thirty  miles.  No  staff  took  she  with 
her,  for  to  carry  such  came  under  the  Talmudical 
definition  of  work.  Neither  could  she  carry  an  um- 
brella, though  it  was  a  season  of  rain.  Mile  after 
mile  she  strode  briskly  on,  toward  that  pallid  face 
that  lay  so  far  beyond  the  horizon,  and  yet  ever 
shone  before  her  eyes  like  a  guiding  star.  "  I  am 
coming,  my  lamb,"  she  muttered.  "The  little  mother 
is  on  the  way." 

It  was  a  muggy  night.  The  sky,  flushed  with  a 
weird,  hectic  glamour,  seemed  to  hang  over  the  earth 
like  a  pall.  The  trees  that  lined  the  roadway  were 
shrouded  in  a  draggling  vapour.  At  midnight  the 
mist  blotted  out  the  stars.  But  the  little  grandmother 
knew  the  road  ran  straight.  All  night  she  walked 
through  the  forest,  fearless  as  Una,  meeting  neither 
man  nor  beast,  though  the  wolf  and  the  bear  haunted 
its  recesses,  and  snakes  lurked  in  the  bushes.  But 
only  the  innocent  squirrels  darted  across  her  path. 
The  morning  found  her  spent,  and  almost  lame. 
But  she  walked  on.  Almost  half  the  journey  was 
yet  to  do. 

She  had  nothing  to  eat  with  her;  food,  too,  was 
an   illegal   burden,  nor   could   she   buy  any  on   the 


THE  SABBATH-BREAKER  483 

holy  day.  She  said  her  Sabbath  morning  prayer 
walking,  hoping  God  would  forgive  the  disrespect. 
The  recital  gave  her  partial  oblivion  of  her  pains. 
As  she  passed  through  a  village  the  dreadful  rumour 
of  cholera  was  confirmed ;  it  gave  wings  to  her  feet 
for  ten  minutes,  then  bodily  weakness  was  stronger 
than  everything  else,  and  she  had  to  lean  against 
the  hedges  on  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  It  was 
nearly  noon.  A  passing  beggar  gave  her  a  piece 
of  bread.  Fortunately  it  was  unbuttered,  so  she 
could  eat  it  with  only  minor  qualms  lest  it  had 
touched  any  unclean  thing.  She  resumed  her  jour- 
ney, but  the  rest  had  only  made  her  feet  move  more 
painfully  and  reluctantly.  She  would  have  liked 
to  bathe  them  in  a  brook,  but  that,  too,  was  for- 
bidden. She  took  the  letter  from  her  bosom  and 
reperused  it,  and  whipped  up  her  flagging  strength 
with  a  cry  of  "  Courage,  my  lamb !  the  little  mother 
is  on  the  way."  Then  the  leaden  clouds  melted  into 
sharp  lines  of  rain,  which  beat  into  her  face,  refresh- 
ing her  for  the  first  few  moments,  but  soon  wetting 
her  to  the  skin,  making  her  sopped  garments  a 
heavier  burden,  and  reducing  the  pathway  to  mud, 
that  clogged  still  further  her  feeble  footsteps.  In 
the  teeth  of  the  wind  and  the  driving  shower  she 
limped  on.  A  fresh  anxiety  consumed  her  now  — 
would  she  have  strength  to  hold  out.?  Every  mo- 
ment her  pace  lessened,  she  was  moving  like  a  snail. 
And  the  slower  she  went  the  more  vivid  grew  her 


484  THE  SABBATH-BREAKER 

prescience  of  what  awaited  her  at  the  journey's  end. 
Would  she  even  hear  his  dying  word  ?  Perhaps  — 
terrible  thought!  —  she  would,  only  be  in  time  to 
look  upon  his  dead  face !  Mayhap  that  was  how 
God  would  punish  her  for  her  desecration  of  the 
holy  day.  "  Take  heart,  my  lamb !  "  she  wailed. 
"  Do  not  die  yet.     The  little  mother  comes." 

The  rain  stopped.  The  sun  came  out,  hot  and 
fierce,  and  dried  her  hands  and  face,  then  made 
them  stream  again  with  perspiration.  Every  inch 
won  was  torture  now,  but  the  brave  feet  toiled  on. 
Bruised  and  swollen  and  crippled,  they  toiled  on. 
There  was  a  dying  voice  —  very  far  off  yet,  alas  !  — 
that  called  to  her,  and  as  she  dragged  herself  along, 
she  replied  :  "  I  am  coming,  my  lamb.  Take  heart ! 
the  little  mother  is  on  the  way.  Courage !  I  shall 
look  upon  thy  face,  I  shall  find  thee  alive." 

Once  a  wagoner  observed  her  plight  and  offered 
her  a  lift,  but  she  shook  her  head  steadfastly.  The 
endless  afternoon  wore  on  —  she  crawled  along  the 
forest-way,  stumbling  every  now  and  then  from 
sheer  faintness,  and  tearing  her  hands  and  face  in 
the  brambles  of  the  roadside.  At  last  the  cruel  sun 
waned,  and  reeking  mists  rose  from  the  forest  pools. 
And  still  the  long  miles  stretched  away,  and  still 
she  plodded  on,  torpid  from  over-exhaustion,  scarcely 
conscious,  and  taking  each  step  only  because  she 
had  taken  the  preceding.  From  time  to  time  her 
lips  mumbled  :   "  Take  heart,  my  lamb !  I  am  com- 


THE  SABBATH-BREAKER  485 

ing."  The  Sabbath  was  "out"  ere,  broken  and 
bleeding,  and  all  but  swooning,  the  little  grand- 
mother crawled  up  to  her  son's  inn,  on  the  border 
of  the  forest.  Her  heart  was  cold  with  fatal  fore- 
boding. There  was  none  of  the  usual  Saturday 
night  litter  of  Polish  peasantry  about  the  door.  The 
sound  of  many  voices  weirdly  intoning  a  Hebrew 
hymn  floated  out  into  the  night.  A  man  in  a  caftan 
opened  the  door,  and  mechanically  raised  his  fore- 
finger to  bid  her  enter  without  noise.  The  little 
grandmother  saw  into  the  room  behind.  Her  daugh- 
ter-in-law and  her  grandchildren  were  seated  on  the 
floor  —  the  seat  of  mourners. 

"  Blessed  be  the  true  Judge !  "  she  said,  and  rent 
the  skirt  of  her  dress.     **  When  did  he  die  }  " 

"  Yesterday.  We  had  to  bury  him  hastily  ere  the 
Sabbath  came  in." 

The  little  grandmother  lifted  up  her  quavering 
voice,  and  joined  the  hymn,  "  I  will  sing  a  new  song 
unto  Thee,  O  God ;  upon  a  harp  of  ten  strings  will 
I  sing  praises  unto  Thee." 

****** 

The  nurses  could  not  understand  what  sudden  in- 
flow of  strength  and  impulse  raised  the  mummified 
figure  into  a  sitting  posture.  The  little  grandmother 
thrust  a  shrivelled  claw  into  her  peaked,  shrunken 
bosom,  and  drew  out  a  paper,  crumpled  and  yellow 
as  herself,  covered  with  strange  crabbed  hieroglyphics, 
whose  hue  had  long  since  faded.     She  held  it  close 


486  THE  SABBATH-BREAKER 

to  her  bleared  eyes  —  a  beautiful  light  came  into 
them,  and  illumined  the  million-puckered  face.  The 
lips  moved  faintly ;  "I  am  coming,  my  lamb,"  she 
mumbled.  "  Courage  !  The  little  mother  is  on  the 
way.  I  shall  look  on  thy  face.  I  shall  find  thee 
alive." 


The  Fourth  Edition  of  ZangwiWs  Famous  Novel 

CHILDREN  OF  THE  GHETTO 


"The  book  is  intended  as  a  study,  through  typical  figures,  of  a  race 
whose  persistence  is  the  most  remarkable -fact  in  the  history  of  the  world, 
the  faith  and  morals  of  which  it  has  so  largely  moulded." 

—  From  the  Author'' s  Preface. 

"  This  famous  novel  deals  with  the  life  of  the  Jews  who  swarm  in  the 
East  End  of  London.  It  is  a  wonderful  book  that  portrays  them  and 
reports  their  lives,  straitened  by  so  narrow  a  horizon."  —  Boston  Courier. 

"Others  have  written  about  the  Jew  —  George  Eliot,  for  example  —  but 
no  such  book  as  this  ever  has  appeared.  As  a  social  study  it  is  a 
phenomenal  work."  —  Congregationalist. 

"  The  story  is  one  of  the  very  best  which  will  be  offered  to  readers." 

—  Albany  Times-Union. 

"Wonderfully  realistic  novel — the  book  is  sure  to  become  a  classic." 

—  Boston  Home  yournal. 

"Intensely  interesting  and  picturesque."  —  Minneapolis  Journal. 

"  It  has  been  recognized  as  a  masterpiece  as  a  novel,  but  it  is  more.  It 
gives  a  picture  of  Jewish  life  that  is  exceedingly  valuable  and  interesting, 
as  well  as  comparatively  unknown."  —  Providence  News. 

"  Every  line  he  writes  shows  an  intellectual  force  that  is  rare,  even  in 
the  gifted  army  of  clever  writers." — Kansas  City  Star. 

"  Fascinating  and  cleverly  executed."  —  Worcester  Spy. 

"In  portrayal  and  development  of  character  he  is  unimpeachably 
accurate.  Not  one  of  the  personages  in  his  book  but  is  alive  from  the 
moment  of  entrance  to  the  moment  of  exit."  —  Boston  Commonwealth. 

"His  power  of  description  is  simply  wonderful  as  displayed  in  this  book, 
and  one  feels  on  closing  that  he  has  actually  visited  the  places  described." 

—  Detroit  Free  Press. 


THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS 

Grotesques  and  Fantasies 

BY 

I.  ZANGWILL 

Author  of  "Children  of  the  Ghetto','  ''Merely  Mary  Ann,**  etc 


Illustrated.    i2tno.    Cloth.    $1.50 


"  He  has  incarcerated  the  floating  tradition  of  the  Jewish  Schnorrer,  who  is  as  unique 
among  beggars  as  Israel  among  nations."  —  Hartford  Tunes. 

"  Mr.  Zangwill  has  disclosed  to  us  an  inviting  field  never  before  exploited  in  fiction, 
and  the  sketches  he  has  printed  are  in  a  kindly  and  humorous  vein,  true  to  life,  and 
highly  entertaining  "  —  Table  Talk. 

"  The  audacity  of  this '  King  of  Schnorrers '  is  something  unequalled,  and  it  is  enhanced 
by  the  pithy  and  original  style  in  which  the  author  writes."  —  Boston  Budget. 

"The  papers  are  written  in  a  style  quaint  and  novel;  novelty,  in  fact,  is  the  main 
charm  of  the  book." —  Churchman. 

"  The  author  has  filled  each  sketch  with  bright,  witty  sayings  and  pointed  phrases,  and 
has  yet,  at  the  same  time,  maintained  a  finished,  careful  style  of  writing." — Nassau 
Literary  Magazine. 

"  There  are  sixteen  stories  in  the  book  and  not  one  of  them  but  is  as  improbable,  as 
bright  and  glancing  in  its  satire  and  fun,  as  gravely  comic  and  comically  grave,  as  any 
man,  in  or  out  of  his  senses,  could  wish.  All  the  stories  of  the  volume  abound  in  odd  and 
ludicrous  situations,  and  more  than  justify  the  high  expectations  raised  of  this  humorous 
story-teller  by  his  first  success  in  humorous  fiction."  —  Chicago  Graphic. 

"  Mr.  Zangwill  is  the  wittiest  of  modern  Englishmen.  Not  only  has  he  a  style,  flexible, 
graceful,  and  as  light  as  the  flight  of  a  sea-bird,  but  he  has  ideas  and  the  art  of  sketching 
delicious  situations  in  an  original  and  charming  way.  The  sin  of  obviousness  he  cannot 
be  accused  of,  nor  the  greater  crime  of  repetition.  Like  the  great  German  (Heine)  he 
conceals  under  the  erse  leaves  of  his  idyllic  verse,  the  sharp  thorns  of  ironic  allusion. 
There  is  ever  lurking  under  his  sentiment  a  sarcasm  —  delicate  as  a  petal,  but  as  percep- 
tible as  the  pea  to  the  princess  through  all  the  sixteen  mattresses.  Not  the  unconvention- 
ality  of  the  dramatis  personce,  nor  the  strange  locale  in  which  they  move,  explains  fully 
the  fascination  of '  The  King  of  Schnorrers.'  Manassil  da  Costa  is  a  creation,  a  delight- 
fully humorous  figure  whose  magnificent  preten.sion  and  impertinent  art  give  him  a  place 
in  the  gallery  of  celebrated  characters.  Without  question  the  story  is  a  tour  de  force, 
2l  masterpiece  of  its  kind,  with  more  wit,  humor,  and  imagination,  and  dexterity  in  it 
than  one  finds  in  the  collected  "ritings  of  Mark  Twain,  Bill  Nye,  Jerome,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  sad  band  of  professional  fun-makers  with  whom  the  ciitics  have  had  the 
audacity  of  classing  Mr.  Zangwill."  —  San  Frat.   isco  Wave. 


^ 


&\ 


RETURN     CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 
TO^^-     202  Main  Library 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 
HOME  USE 

2. 

3 

4 

5 

6 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

Renewals  and  Recharges  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  the  due  date. 

Books  may  be  Renewed  by  calling     642-3405. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


MAY08199C 


AUTO.  Disc. 


8SPQ8i)»^a 


CTHntJCATltT* 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6  BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


■ 


p 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 

11 


ca2oa8sas3 


?8S298 


nSk^.. 


0 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


